


Paralysis

by Ballades



Series: Untold Stories of Thedas [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Free Marches, Gay Wardens, Grey Wardens, M/M, Ostwick, Post-Trespasser, The Taint, lots of pining, maybe a bit of food porn as well, sadness and dicks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-12-08 09:43:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 66,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11643915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ballades/pseuds/Ballades
Summary: Takaleth Trevelyan wants nothing to do with feelings, not even the ones he has for Carver Hawke.Unfortunately for Taka, that's not how things work.  It only takes a little bird and a secret to destroy the status quo.Otherwise known as a tale of two dumbasses being dumbasses together, separately, at others, and at each other.(This story is a spiritual successor toAfter Lifeand takes place duringBloodsong.  Reading theThedosian Lunar New Year Shortsis highly recommended, but not mandatory.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Back at it (it's hard to quit you guys!) with a new longform starring my favorite wardens and honorary legionnaires Taka and Carver. Trying something new yet again - this time I've got the entire thing drafted, and will try to edit a few chapters ahead of release, which will be scheduled.
> 
> This is for those of you who wanted more.

Taka sighs as he trudges down to Lowtown, glancing up every so often to measure the threat of snow. The air’s thick enough and bitter enough for it, rolling wet and heavy on itself as wind from the Waking Sea tries in vain to push past Sundermount to the lands beyond. Just a bit colder, he thinks, and the dismal winter rain will become gentle, fluffy flakes, which if they fell would be a much more pleasant send-off than this surly, hung-over sky.

He flexes his hands, frowning deeper the farther he gets from Sanctuary. His cousin’s estate lives up to its name, and had granted him a kind of sleep he hadn’t realized existed and a sense of peace he’d forgotten about since becoming a Grey Warden. For the two weeks of new year’s celebrations Taka could enjoy himself, minus the frustrations of his family’s Game-playing, and prioritize without guilt the things that mattered, like long conversations about nothing with Aeveth, fortified with good wine and companionable silence. Or submitting himself to each and every game Sparrow and the other children invented. It hadn’t been uncommon for Taka to lie on the oversized couch in the library with Sparrow, reading her stories until she fell asleep.

Taka sighs mournfully once again, thinking about how lucky Aeveth is to lead that kind of life, though if he’s honest with himself, which he often isn’t, her life is fraught and fragile and there is something not quite right about her. There’s a lot that isn’t quite right at Sanctuary, beginning at Aeveth and continuing with Wren and Sparrow, but the healing magic laid into its foundation masks much. He can’t do anything about it, however, can’t do anything about how wan Aeveth looks or how exhausted she is simply from moving around or that entire damned Fade-basement or how worried Michel is about everything, which is in itself worrying.

No, Aeveth isn’t lucky, and Taka can’t do anything about it because his duty calls and he and Carver are expected in Ansburg for the annual meeting.

He blinks as he enters the Hanged Man, his eyes adjusting to a dimness that hides more than it flatters. Early afternoon hasn’t deterred the lifelong drinkers scattered around the common room, measuring their half hours with every flagon of shitty, watery ale. Taka wrinkles his nose at the distinct smell of the deplorables, but strides through the common room to Carver’s customary table in the back. Carver’s fondness for the tavern is the only reason Taka tolerates it. It grounds him, Carver says, keeps him from being like the people in Hightown.

Taka doesn’t think Carver can become pretentious any more than he thinks Carver can lie with a straight face, but convincing him of that is a waste of time.

“No late lunch with your sister?” Taka says by way of greeting, grabbing the back of a chair, flipping it around so he can sit. It’s more relaxing, this kind of crass casualness, and acceptable here versus Sanctuary where straddling one of Aeveth’s office chairs would have verged on grotesque.

Carver snorts, his mouth half-full. He finishes chewing and swallowing before he speaks. “We look like the lunching sort, do we? Afternoon tea? Crumpets with butter made from fat Orlesian cows?”

“Yes, I had that yesterday.” Taka folds his arms over themselves atop the back of the chair, then grins. “You could stop eating that codswallop. Sanctuary’s food is excellently made, and I could tell you every ingredient that’s put into it.”

“Pass. This does just as well for me.”

Taka almost makes a remark about how much and how well Carver eats each time he visits Sanctuary, and how no complaints have been lodged, but decides against it. He makes a face instead, scrunching his nose up, sticking out his tongue. “That is foul, and you’re no fun.”

“Fun is making my mabari tattoo bark at you. Fun isn’t getting involved with family drama.” Carver fixes a flat blue stare on him.

It isn’t about the food at all, which doesn’t surprise Taka. Carver hasn’t the patience nor the questionable morals to deal with Trevelyan Game-playing nonsense, and possesses all the subtlety of a hammer crashing onto an anvil. But Taka respects and values the sense of righteousness that burns brightly in Carver’s spirit. It balances Taka’s tendencies, and often lets him know when he’s gone too far.

“That tattoo is a travesty,” Taka says, “and looks like it was drawn by a child.”

“Any child can understand what the mabari represents. The tattoo is sentimental. You just hate it when I do that.”

Taka can’t say whether he hates it or loves it, but it does get annoying. Carver twitches his rump just so, and the mabari moves, and then Taka has to keep from cracking his palm across Carver’s well-rounded backside. “Yes, I curse the day I first had to look at your arse, and each subsequent day.”

“Do you?” Carver rattles his spoon around the circumference of his bowl, frowning. Though he’s only an inch or two taller Carver can put down twice the food Taka can, and that isn’t counting the effects of the Taint. Taka would ask where it goes, but he knows: Carver’s muscles. All those glorious muscles in his shoulders and arms and legs, each more defined than definition itself, each tragically trapped beneath clothing and armor.

Taka sheds an imaginary tear as he says, “What does _that_ mean?” He tilts his head, an eyebrow drawing down in puzzlement. It’s rare for Carver to confuse him on anything. Taka sends the conversation back to a track with a determinate end.

“You know Aeveth will feed you to bursting for free, right? Well, mostly free. Wren and some others would appreciate it if you did some training with no shirt on. Imagine the sight of you, sweaty and burly and glistening, with that intense look you get when you’re fighting. Pair you with the poetry that’s Michel -”

“That’s her _husband_ , not some random man you can ogle!”

“- I approve of her taste when it comes to looks, if not personality,” Taka says with a cheeky smile. “Perhaps Aeveth would loan us a shirtless Michel for the event. I could charge admission. Get Varric in on it. And Isabela.”

“And you wouldn’t participate?” Carver scoffs. “You, who thinks the sun shines out your exquisitely toned ass?”

“I’ll take the compliment, thank you very much.”

“Wasn’t a compliment.”

“Sure sounded like one. Exquisitely toned ass is a lovely choice of verbiage for my back end. Please be advised that my ass is also a highly touchable golden brown color, and should anyone want to see it -”

Carver rolls his eyes and _ughs_ loudly. “No one wants to see it!”

“You just told me I should participate in this hypothetical sweaty clothes-optional sparring match!” Taka’s smile becomes a grin. “Which is it, then?”

“You said shirtless, not pantless!”

“Well, if this is a paid event I want to make sure everyone gets their money’s worth.”

Carver groans. “It isn’t even happening. This is just some fantasy you’ve invented in the moment.”

“Which is it?” Taka prods, propping his chin on his arms. “Go on, tell me. Participate or not?”

“Do I have to?” It falls a hair short of a whine.

“Humor me, Carver.”

Carver’s cheek jumps as he clenches his teeth. “If I have to suffer, so do you.”

“Why,” Taka says with mock surprise, “I would rather be out there watching!”

To Taka’s genuine surprise, Carver doesn’t fire back a retort. Carver gives Taka a look, his eyes strangely unreadable despite the faint pinking of his cheeks. He pulls a few coins from a pocket and slaps them on the table. “We need to be off.”

Taka sighs and gets up, wondering if this is the start of one of Carver’s moods. Over the years Taka’s learned how to weather them, not that there had been much of a choice. For the most part Carver broods in silence, and Taka pretends he doesn’t notice the stormcloud on legs stalking at his side. Sometimes Taka pokes at him and thanks him for easing the burden of conversation.

“Aeveth had my things gathered and sent down to the farm.” Taka waits as Carver rises and stretches. “Where’s your gear?”

“Here.” Carver nudges his rucksack out from under the table with his foot, the end of the greatsword strapped to it dragging on the floor. He brushes a hand over the poniard riding his hip to check it, then puts on a pair of gloves, tucking the ends under his vambraces. Then in one motion he stoops and hoists his gear with one arm, settling it onto his back with a minimum of clanging.

Taka turns for the door, squinting into the diffuse light as he exits, breathing in the relatively cleaner air. The smoky smell of the Hanged Man clings insistently like a lover’s perfume, and Taka has little desire for either of them. He hopes the sea breeze outside Kirkwall will blow the scent away.

“I’ll carry that when we get to the docks.” Taka glances back, pauses so Carver can catch up.

Carver grunts. “All right.” Then, “Why the farm?”

“She’s given us some horses.”

“Horses?” Carver’s incredulous. “What will we do with bloody horses?”

Taka glares at him. “Manners, you brute.”

Carver clears his throat, then sighs. His concession doesn’t sound much like one. “That was generous of Aeveth.”

“It was. I have already thanked her profusely. She knew we were getting a late start and thought she’d give us a leg up.” Taka holds up a hand, stopping Carver from talking. “They’re only a loan to get us where we need to go. We’ll contact one of Leliana’s people when we arrive, and they will return the horses. All right?”

Carver grunts again. “Nice perks, having the Inquisitor as your cousin.”

“Saying thank you takes less time and effort,” Taka replies flatly. Aeveth’s gesture wasn’t one of largesse but rather of gratitude, though Taka has no plans to disabuse Carver of the notion. In the end, it doesn’t matter whether or not Carver knows about how Taka helped Aeveth at detriment to himself. Carver’s attitude won’t change. “The horses won’t be a problem. I’ll care for them since you’re worse at it.”

“Wonderful,” Carver says with an eyeroll. “This trip is starting off well.”

“Ingratitude towards someone who is trying to help has the effect of making me irritated at you, yes. It isn’t my fault you dislike horses and ride poorly.” Taka tries not to get swept into Carver’s sourness, tries not to amplify the negative energy he’s receiving. He and Carver are friends, but arguing comes easy and Taka’s trying to hold onto the calm he gained at Sanctuary.

“Not everyone had the upbringing you had.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” Taka snaps.

“Nothing,” Carver snaps back, except it isn’t nothing.

“Then why bring it up if it’s irrelevant?” Taka crosses his arms over his chest, scowling. So much for not amplifying Carver’s bad mood. Maybe he should tell Carver the reason why Aeveth did what she did. Or maybe he’ll snipe at Carver and hold his thoughts close as he always does. “What’s wrong with you? Did you fight with your sister? Don’t take it out on me if so.”

“We didn’t fight.”

“By Andraste, miracles do happen.”

“Could you quit with the snide remarks already?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. They’re simply remarks.” Needling Carver is second nature, and has been for years. Taka doesn’t have to put any effort into making it snide. Carver’s generally a good sport about it, often giving it right back, but Taka’s miscalculation today has led somewhere unpleasant. He shouldn’t have engaged.

“All the little jabs, the little barbs about my abilities or my intelligence or my personality. Why do you do that?”

“What personality?”

“Fuck you, Taka. That right there is what I’m talking about. Why do you do that?” Carver turns his eyes back to the street, glowering. Though Lowtown is crowded, a path clears in front of him.

Because, Taka thinks, Carver’s an easy target. Because making jokes at the other’s expense was what they did as friends. Because it’s the most effective way of steering Carver away from subjects Taka doesn’t wish him to know. Because Wren had taken one look at Taka with Carver and had seen the truth, speaking his deepest secret aloud, laying him open to the bone. Because Taka has to show Carver how much he doesn’t love him.

Taka dodges the question instead. “Tell you what, Carver. If you’re going to be in a bad mood, do as you typically do and be silent, muscular, and broody.” If Taka is going to compliment him, he’s going to do it in a way that won’t result in Carver puffing up and strutting about for an entire day. Carver won’t respond well to this.

“I’m not in a bad mood,” Carver retorts, “but you’re putting me into one. And I’m not just muscle.”

No, Carver isn’t just muscle. Carver is fierce loyalty, a boyish sense of humor, a moral compass, and open honesty. Carver’s the longest single relationship Taka’s ever had, the longest single relationship Taka’s ever kept. Carver is earnest blue eyes and a stubbornly set jaw and a rogue lock of hair that begs to be smoothed back and a smile beautiful and rare enough to break Taka’s heart.

He stops himself from admiring too blatantly. Under no circumstances will Taka allow Carver even to suspect there’s something more. If Wren could figure it out, others could too, so Taka has to be more careful, has to sell the act harder. Taka doesn’t want to ruin what he has, which is that a life with Carver, however bad it sometimes gets, is better than a life without Carver. He can live with Carver hating him. He can live with Carver thinking Taka hates him.

“Maker,” Taka sighs, lifting and dropping his shoulders for drama’s sake. “I never said that. You’re more than muscle. You’re…”

Taka puts a finger on his chin as he walks, his mouth pursing. “Well, hmm. You’re a good…”

Carver makes a disgusted noise and throws up his hands. “Forget I said anything. I should have known better than to expect the truth from you.”

It shouldn’t hurt, but it does. Taka takes the pain with a smile, and shows teeth. “You should have.”

Carver lapses into grim silence, and Taka finally disengages. They pass through the Lowtown gate, heading for Kirkwall’s land entrance.

*** *** ***

Taka takes Carver’s rucksack as promised when they reach the docks, touching Carver’s shoulder with a wordless familiarity, grasping a strap when Carver comes to a halt. He shrugs the sack off, then assists Taka with putting it on, though he doesn’t have to. Taka is more than capable of carrying it.

They haven’t said anything to each other during the walk from the gate to the waterfront. Carver glances at Taka, whose eyes are resolutely trained on the cobblestoned road, his face neutral, signalling nothing. Carver gives up trying to figure out what’s wrong, and instead rolls his shoulders forward and back, tilting his head from side to side to work out the stiffness.

Seagulls wheel overhead, calling to each other before landing with a lot of fuss upon tarred-over pylons. Carver watches them grouse at each other. It’s a bit like how he and Taka are, except Taka’s been more cranky than usual today. Well, Taka isn’t the cranky sort; that’s more Carver. But Taka has definitely been cranky, especially after Carver’s poorly received comment.

In all fairness the comment was poorly given, so Carver grudgingly understands why Taka’s reacted the way he has. He should apologize.

“Lots of gulls,” Carver says, hoping Taka will accept the invitation to chat.

“Yes.”

That’s a no. Carver frowns and rakes a hand through his hair, then pushes up the one lock that never stays with the rest, flopping determinedly onto his forehead. He feels the touch of Taka’s eyes as he fiddles with his hair. They slide away when Carver tries to catch them.

He’s supposed to be angry, but that’s mostly left him. Yeah, being the target of Taka’s insults isn’t fun, but being insulted is nothing new. Carver knows Taka doesn’t mean it most of the time, just as Carver doesn’t truly mean it when he returns fire. And Taka certainly can’t mean it if what Sparrow said was true.

Her words reverberate through him again. _Ser Carver, can I tell you a secret?_

Carver had to kneel in front of her. _Yeah?_

Sparrow leaned close, cupping a hand around her mouth to block the sight of her lips, and whispered words that set him to ringing, chills skipping up and down his spine. _Uncle Taka is in love with you._

He hadn’t had time to react before she added, _Don’t tell him I told you._

 _I won’t,_ he’d said, then added gravely, _thank you._

It wouldn’t be unfair to say that Carver’s been preoccupied since. Which is ridiculous considering Sparrow is a nine-year-old girl, and Taka is a grown man of forty-two entire years who is capable of expressing his feelings. He really ought to dismiss the natterings of a child. Taka hasn’t given Carver any indication whatsoever that what he feels in his heart is anything more than fraternal love and deep friendship.

Or has he?

Carver frowns. He wants to tell Taka because he tells Taka everything, or everything that matters. He hasn’t decided whether or not Sparrow is something that matters, though it’s funny. _Taka,_ Carver almost says. _Want to hear something funny? Sparrow told me you love me._

Carver’s got no comedic timing whatsoever.

“I went visiting,” he says instead.

Taka graces Carver with a sidelong look. Graces is the right word for it, because that’s how Taka moves, smooth and connected and full of thought for how he gets from one place to another. There’s grace in Taka’s shooting and grace in the curve of his lips and even grace in how he bends when he speaks to Aeveth, who is herself graceful. It has to run in the family. 

“How did it go?” Taka asks him. Taka’s also polite when he wants to be, or thinks he should be.

“Well enough, I suppose.” Carver thinks. “Varric’s getting better at Viscount-ing I think. Or so Mara says. I’m still not used to seeing him in the keep.”

“Did you tell him that?” Taka fiddles with one of the straps, resettling it on his shoulder.

“Yeah. Then he said he’d rather be at the Hanged Man.”

“Where you can ride side-saddle and bitch at your betters?”

Carver grins. “Something like that. Then I saw Aveline. She punched me.” When Taka doesn’t say anything, Carver continues, “That’s better than the last time, when she ran at me with her sword.”

“She put you on your rear, if I recall correctly.”

He does. Carver keeps going. “Then I tried Merrill’s house. She wasn’t there again. I didn’t even have to knock, there was so much dirt across her step it was obvious she hadn’t been there in a while.”

Taka nods. “No word from anyone else either, I take it. You must miss her.”

“Um, sure.” Carver doesn’t miss her the way he thinks Taka means he misses her. “Though I didn’t ask after her because I didn’t have a chance.”

“Too sad? Weeping as you looked into the middle distance, mourning your long-lost love?” There’s the snarky Taka that Carver expects.

“Maker, must everything sound to you like it was lifted from the Randy Dowager?”

“Don’t want to admit you have feelings, Carver?” A smile ghosts across Taka’s lips.

“You’re one to talk,” Carver retorts, relieved at how things are working back to normal.

Taka snorts after a split second. “I don’t know what you mean. I have no feelings to admit to because I don’t have any.”

Carver hasn’t much to say about that; Taka forms only the shallowest of attachments when it comes to love and romance. Six inches give or take, probably give. Carver’s never seen Taka naked in quite that way, so it’s an educated guess. 

In the spirit of joking, Carver throws in a dig. “Is that so? You don’t have a single person you’re madly in love with? C’mon now Taka, you can tell me, we’re friends.”

Taka chuckles, hooking his thumbs into the shoulder straps as he walks, quirking his eyebrow for an arch look. “I’ll tell you if you’ll admit you’re in love with Merrill.”

Carver coughs, covering his mouth with his fist, trying to process what Taka’s said. Does Taka have someone he’s in love with? Is what Sparrow said actually true? Is he saying this because he knows Carver isn’t in love with Merrill and won’t speak false? Is he saying this because he thinks Carver is in love with Merrill but will deny it?

“I’m not in love with her!” He tries not to make it sound too pouty.

Taka grins, hands going to his hips. “I suppose you won’t ever find out who I allegedly have feelings for.”

“But you do have feelings for someone?” Carver clears his throat. “You know, here’s a funny thing -”

“I have none whatsoever.” Taka looks a bit strange, like something bothers him. “I haven’t the faintest idea what would give you that impression. You’ve known me how long again?”

Oh, Maker, it’s been almost ten years. Actually, ten years exactly; their first assignment was a random draw at the annual meeting. “Fine, fine,” Carver grumbles. He waits a minute before opening his mouth.

“Taka’s in love with a gi-irl,” he sings.

“Sweet Maker, I would _never,_ ” Taka says, laughing. “Shut up!”

“In _lo-ove,_ ” Carver teases.

“Maker take you, Hawke!”

“Who is she? Anna? Ivy? Gisele? Who’s your favorite at the Rose?”

“Yours,” Taka says with a grin, “and she likes me better too.”

Carver snickers. “That’s a low blow.”

“Apologies, should I have aimed higher?” Taka gives him an appraising look, dragging his eyes up and down Carver’s body so hard they scrape. “I had rather estimated you to be larger.”

“You’re a shit, do you know that?” But Carver’s laughing now as well, the mood lightening as they start down the road that leads to the gate.

It only occurs to Carver after they’ve left Kirkwall that he’s made a mistake in his statement. He shouldn’t have specified girls. Taka likes boys, too.

_Ser Carver, can I tell you a secret?_

He swallows and sneaks a look at Taka, walking lost in thought beside him. His heart drops, bottoming out in his stomach.

_Uncle Taka’s in love with you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, questions, flames, rotten fruit, all accepted!


	2. Chapter 2

Taka prefers Sanctuary with its restful magic, its amenities, and its bustle, but for Carver the farm is more comfortable. Cities, Kirkwall especially, can put him on edge. The farm is like he is, humble and uncomplicated. Pastoral. Closer to the way things were when Carver was growing up in the Fereldan countryside. There’s only land and horses, and the satisfaction of a job well done at day’s end.

Aeveth’s auxiliary farm lays tucked into the foothills some distance beyond Kirkwall, accessible from the main road via a well-tended, gravelly path about half a mile long that passes between large, fenced pastures. The horses are already out when he and Carver arrive, cropping patchy grass without a care in the world, their tails flicking occasionally. Taka resists the desire to hop the fence and say hello, and stays with Carver as they pass the respectably-sized stable, angling towards the farmhouse.

Seanna greets them at the door still dusty and sweaty, her face breaking into a smile when she sees them. It transforms her sculpted, handsome features into radiant beauty, her dark skin practically glowing. “Taka and Carver! Welcome!”

“Good to see you again, Seanna,” Taka replies, leaning in for a quick hug and cheek kiss. After Aeveth disbanded the Inquisition she attempted to convince Master Dennet to stay on, but he’d refused, wanting to return home. In the end he’d wound up trading places with his daughter. “Have you been well?”

“Well enough, well enough,” she says, gesturing for them to go inside. “And what about you, Taka? Carver?”

Carver tilts his head side to side, considering. “As well as can be.”

Taka senses Carver easing up as they exchange small talk with Seanna, nodding at the stablehands coming in and the guards rotating out. They follow Seanna up the stairs to the wide walkway that hugs the walls of the house. The house is large but simply built, two stories tall with an open communal area running down the center, surrounded by bedrooms. If Taka peers over the railing he’ll be able to see cooks in the kitchen, and people relaxing around card tables.

“You and Carver will have separate rooms,” Seanna says, stopping in front of a door, opening it. Taka glances at the interior to confirm that his belongings are all there.

“Excellent,” he says. “My thanks for the privacy and the freedom to do what I want with it.”

“Within reason,” Seanna replies.

“Perhaps I should have said ‘the freedom to do whom I want with it,’” Taka says, cranking up the charm.

Seanna smiles back. “Within reason.”

“Are you not within reason?” Taka puts on his best innocent look.

“You keep trying, Taka.” 

“Ugh,” Carver says. “Couldn’t you do this some other time? Maker.”

“No time like the present.” Taka turns the smile on Carver, where it has no effect. At least with Seanna she’ll respond and flirt back, Taka will proposition her, she’ll say no, and that’ll be that.

“Your room is over here,” Seanna tells Carver, but Taka catches her look. “Taka, Lang is waiting for you in the barn. You should go talk to him before dinner.”

“I will,” Taka says, stepping into his room, already stripping off his gloves. He divests himself of his armor and gives himself a quick, efficient sponge bath, scrubbing off the grime of travel, and re-dresses himself with clothing that doesn’t smell like he’s taken a swim in Kirkwall’s harbor.

Once he’s suitably presentable Taka walks to the barn, breathing deep of the smells when he enters, comforted instantly. When he was a kid, after Aeveth was taken, he would hide in the hayloft on the Trevelyan farm, then sneak into his pony’s stall when the sun went down. Eventually Raeneth would be sent to fetch him, which they both dreaded because Taka never took orders well from her. Taka’s sure he’s spilled more of his sister’s blood than any of her many opponents, and he’s had his fair share of black eyes.

The horses ignore him as he passes them on the way to the stablemaster’s office, with one exception. She’s big, with conformation crafted by the Maker himself, black all over but for a blaze and socks, with an extra large stall that matches her stature and status. A sign on her door reads, “SHE BITES!”

“The demon horse herself,” Taka murmurs as she comes up to the bars of her stall, nosing them hard. “Hello, Git.”

Keeper eyeballs him, half-stomping a foot into the straw.

“I know I’m not Aeveth,” Taka says. “You’re unhappy whenever she isn’t around. Sorry. And I’m also not here to see you. I know how that feels, you vain thing.”

“Best leave her alone,” a voice breaks in.

“I was planning on it.” Taka turns to see a burly man striding up, his demeanor no-nonsense. He extends his hand to shake. “I’ve enough experience with her to know. Well met, Lang.”

Smiling, the assistant stablemaster replies. “Well met, Ser Taka. Spoiled by her Worship, aren’t you? Here about your mounts?”

Taka nods. “It won’t take long. Dinner is almost prepared.”

“That’s what I like to hear!” Lang laughs. “What do you need?”

“I would say Git because I’ve always wanted to ride her, but I also value my own skin.” Taka grins.

Lang chuckles, then shakes his head at Keeper, sighing. “Other options than the one that’ll get you killed?”

“Come now, she isn’t that ill-tempered.”

“Some days I do wonder. She nailed me on the shoulder two weeks ago and I think she missed my face on purpose.”

Taka winces in sympathy. “It must be time for her go back to Sanctuary.”

“Almost but not quite, and not soon enough.” Lang sighs. “So what kind of horses do you need?”

“A gelding strong enough to bear Carver, and patient enough to handle him. I can ride any horse you give me.”

“Strong enough?” Lang sizes Taka up. “He bigger than you by that much?”

“Taller by at least an inch, don’t tell him I said that, and probably a stone heavier if not more. Not much of a horseman, though. He’s used to walking.”

Lang nods, thoughtful. “Any horse for you, you said?”

Taka spreads his hands and shrugs. “I’m a Trevelyan, lest you forget. I could ride before I could walk.”

They spend the next minutes discussing what the wardens will need on their trip. Lang finishes his chores with some assistance from Taka, who’s tasked with turning Keeper out for the night. To Taka’s surprise Keeper demonstrates perfect behavior as if trying to prove Lang wrong. She stands and poses as Taka fastens a blanket around her, then walks docilely on the lead to the pasture gate, trotting off when she’s freed. Keeper has an adorable round-bellied pony for a pasture companion, and Taka turns him out as well, sending him away with a rub on the nose.

He stomps barn dust off his boots during the walk back to the farmhouse, his stomach growling loud enough to make Lang raise an eyebrow, washing his hands before entering the dining area. Carver’s already at the long table, looking much more at home than anywhere else except Ansburg and Weisshaupt. He’s down to a plain tunic and pants, the sleeves of the tunic rolled to the elbows, showing off muscled forearms. Surrounding him are a mix of guards and stablehands, laughing as Carver says something. From the looks of it, Carver’s telling the story about the lemon cake. A solid go-to, that one.

Taka holds his bowl and watches raptly from the kitchen, his hunger momentarily forgotten. Carver’s in his element - he’s smiling! - and Taka won’t intrude on the rare moment when he’s fully comfortable and the center of attention. He’s content to observe from afar, his heart filling first with affection, then sorrow. Taka would like to be able to join Carver, claiming a seat beside him, and lean close the way people do when they’ve been intimate with each other. He’d like to be the one responsible for Carver’s happiness, but instead Taka’s responsible for Carver’s irritation, and reaps eyerolls and groans rather than shared looks and kisses.

That is a garden of Taka’s own cultivation, and each seed has been sown with purpose.

“Something the matter?”

“No,” Taka lies, not looking at Seanna, smoothing the emotion from his face. “Thank you for worrying, though.”

Seanna snorts softly through her nose, then puts her bowl down and cocks a hip against the kitchen counter. “Is it because no one is paying attention to you?”

Taka lets the grin slide slow and sly over his lips, canting his head towards her. Flirting with Seanna is an acceptable and welcome distraction. “You are, aren’t you?”

“Insufferable colt,” she mutters.

“That’s me,” Taka says, though he’s no colt now that he’s over 40. More a seasoned stallion with an impeccable pedigree. “I’m afraid you’ll have to break me, stablemistress.”

Seanna bursts out laughing so suddenly that the entire dining table turns to look at them, Carver included. Whereas the rest of them go back to their meals, Carver takes the time to shoot Taka a glare. Taka meets it with a wink and a saucy grin.

“You go too far, Taka.” Seanna casts around for a second, then hands him a spoon. “And you’ll need this to eat so nothing ridiculous can come out of your mouth.”

“Apologies,” Taka says, and he means it. Sometimes he does push too hard, and that isn’t acceptable. He puts his spoon in his bowl. “What if I told you a sad story? A very sad story. A very sad, very personal story. One that requires us to take a walk in the moonlight so I can look noble and we can admire each other mutually.”

Seanna snickers. “As I said, insufferable. Do you tell this sad story to everyone?”

“No,” Taka replies, “it doesn’t work on everyone.” He takes a bite of stew, and it’s so good his knees almost buckle. Taka moans softly in pleasure, half-lidding his eyes for effect. Seanna should know what she’s missing.

“This is delicious,” he says once he can think in words again. “My compliments to the chef.”

“I’ll let him know. Do you have a repertoire of stories? You would, wouldn’t you? Taka, that’s never going to amount to anything.” Seanna stretches a hand over the counter to snag bread out of the basket.

Taka can’t answer, his hunger spiking so suddenly that his only recourse is to eat. He tries to do it as elegantly as he can, but it’s difficult while standing. When his bowl is empty Seanna wraps her hands around it, her fingers brushing against his, and takes it to be refilled while Taka munches on the accompanying bread.

“A sad story, is it?” She hands the bowl back, their fingers brushing again.

“Incredibly sad. Also very personal.” The dining room erupts in a cheer. Carver’s on his feet, leading the toast, a hand over his chest. Taka looks away before they can make eye contact.

Seanna passes him a second piece of bread. “Being a Grey Warden is sadness enough, don’t you think?”

“I do,” Taka says, and the directness of his words makes Seanna blink in surprise. “Which is why I need someone like you to help me with it. If you’re willing.”

“Maker’s sake, Taka, for a second I thought you were going to be serious.”

He touches his fingertips to his sternum, shifting his weight forward, pretending to be insulted. “How dare, Seanna. Me? Serious?”

“I feel bad for you, Taka.”

“Seanna, I only said if you’re willing. Pity can be a bonus.” Taka breaks out his coy smile. He needs this distraction tonight. “I’m not picky about the method. The ends justify the means, and so forth.”

Seanna laughs again, reaching up to pat his cheek. Taka’s smile widens into a grin; after all this time, he’s finally won. “Go sit and eat, Taka. You can tell me your personal sad story when your stomach isn’t the third person in this conversation.”

*** *** ***

Taka leaves Seanna blissed out and snuggled in her bed, blowing her a kiss and whispering a thank you from her doorway. He himself feels wonderful, loose-limbed and clearheaded, light from the afterglow. Though he’s tired he isn’t ready for sleep yet, so he embarks on a few laps around the darkened house, dropping by the kitchen to pick up the remaining pieces of bread.

His thoughts resume step by step, and Taka lets them take their course. There is the matter of work, and the delay at Sanctuary. At that, Taka mutes the ever-present undercurrent of whispers in his mind. Part of the reason why he likes Sanctuary so much is because Aeveth’s glyphs blank out some of the effects of the Taint. When he’s there he remembers things he hasn’t realized he’s forgotten, and days pass in concrete, sequential events. On the journey to Kirkwall from Ostwick there were times when all Taka could recall was a hazy blur stained with demonsong. He’d felt more like himself on Sanctuary’s grounds, and he’s stayed that way since leaving. He hopes he won’t slip through days again, and that the issue has been resolved. Taka prides himself on his memory, but if the fabric of his mind is starting to wear through, that’s a problem.

Taka frowns, directing his thoughts to the route to Ansburg and how he and Carver will get there. They’ll travel east along their customary path by the Vimmarks, where darkspawn activity is present if not regular. The inconsistency is what prevents them from taking the faster northern route via Starkhaven, otherwise they could shave off several days of walking. Hopefully he and Carver will intersect with Thom and Rith along the way, rest in Ostwick for a day or two, then strike north to Markham and so on to Ansburg.

That would be a welcome change for Carver, having both Thom and Rith around. He’d like that a lot.

Carver. Taka recalls their spat from earlier in the day, allowing himself to scowl freely on account of no one being around. It’s true that he keeps a running commentary with Carver as the butt of the joke, and Carver has a right to be upset with him over it. But Taka is reasonably sure that Carver had been upset with something else to start with, and that vexation had spilled over into their interactions. Regardless, Taka could stand to be less of an ass to his partner.

Taka sighs, shuffling up the stairs for his next lap around, the bottoms of his house shoes scuffing against each stair. His final lap, he thinks; sleep is hovering. He walks down the hall, noting the few doors under which light shines. Carver’s is one of them. He’s probably checking things over in preparation, running questing hands over sword and armor, his brows furrowing as he concentrates. Carver’s as meticulous as Taka is about gear.

He approaches without incident, but as he’s passing Taka hears a thump on the floor, followed by two loud footsteps. Taka turns before Carver’s door opens, light squeezing into the hall before his shadow blots it out.

“Taka, for Andraste’s sake,” Carver says, and Maker help, the man is shirtless. Taka rips his attention away from Carver’s biceps - no, his chest - no, his shoulders. Maferath’s wrinkly ballsack, Carver’s everything. “Quit pacing. You’ve done five rounds by now.”

“Incorrect.” Taka folds his arms across his body. “I’ve done six.”

Carver rolls his eyes. “You’ve done five. I know your walk, and I can count that high. Quit pacing. People are trying to rest.”

“I’m about to go to bed.” Taka notices Carver’s feet. “Seriously, Carver? You still have outside shoes on?” Oh, it really is second nature.

“I tell you to quit pacing and you’re having a go at me because I’m still wearing boots?”

“That’s -” Taka shuts his mouth. Carver is Fereldan, and at times it blatantly shows. Marchers often change shoes when they come inside, but Carver disregards the custom. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” There’s no use being introspective if he isn’t going to act upon it.

“What?”

“I said I’m sorry.”

Carver shakes his head like he can’t believe his ears. “Who are you and what have you done with Taka?”

“What, like you’ve never heard me apologize before?”

“Not to me.”

“Don’t you lie, Carver Hawke.”

“I’m not…!” Carver splutters, frustrated. “I’m not going to row with you in the middle of the night, all right? Go to bed, find Seanna for another round or something, and stop pacing. It’s bothering me.”

“Actually,” Taka says, “do you mind if I come in?”

Carver gives him a suspicious look. “What for?”

“So I can tell you more things that will shock you and make you say my full name in the tone mothers use when they’re scandalized by their children.”

Taka watches Carver do the calculations, the blue of his eyes sharpening in the semi-dark. Finally he opens his door wide, candlelight spilling around him as he steps back. “What is it?” he says once Taka is inside and the door is shut.

Taka inhales slowly, using the time to face himself, dropping the act he’s inhabited so easily. It’s more difficult in practice than in theory, and he wants to flee down the path of least resistance.

When he meets Carver’s eyes Taka comes as himself and nothing more. “I wanted to apologize for earlier today. It was not within my rights to speak of you the way I did.”

Carver straightens, taken aback.

“I made those remarks in a spirit of meanness, and it’s unfair to target you so often.” Taka blinks, then holds his gaze steady, choosing his next words with care. He’s being honest, but that doesn’t mean he has to bare his soul in its entirety. “You aren’t stupid and you aren’t unskilled. The way I was raised sometimes blinds me to things that you can see, and that is a strength for you, not a weakness.”

He pauses.

“Go on,” Carver manages.

“You’re my partner,” Taka says simply. “I wouldn’t have any other, truth be told. I want you to know that. Maybe it’s because we’ve been together for so long, or maybe because I find in you a depth of fierce loyalty that inspires and a fighting spirit that shines brighter than anyone I know except my cousin. The last thing I want to do is drive you away.”

Taka breathes in, realizes he’s shaking. He hopes Carver can’t see it. Maker, feelings are useless if the result is this. Honesty is patently terrible, and vulnerability can go fuck itself.

Carver’s mouth hangs open for a second before he clears his throat behind his fist. “Is there...is there anything else?”

 _I’m madly in love with you and can’t admit it to anyone but myself because I’m terrified of what will happen afterwards._ The words gather on the tip of his tongue.

“No,” Taka says.

“Nothing else?” Carver prods, voice and eyes going soft.

“If you are expecting verse, I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint you.” Taka folds his arms over his chest. “That was all.”

Carver nods. “I didn’t say your name like mothers do.”

“Maker give me strength if that happens. You aren’t my mother.”

“You said -”

“I know what I said.” Taka pulls his persona back on, and it settles around him like a well-loved sweater. “Next time I’ll find you a real shocker.”

“This is enough,” Carver says. “Go to bed, Taka.”

Taka folds his lips into a line, then reaches for the doorknob. He has the door halfway open when Carver’s hand curves heavy over his shoulder. Taka startles, his body and breath hitching, dread gripping him by the throat. There’s no way Carver hasn’t noticed that.

“What’s wrong?” Carver doesn’t move his hand. The press of each finger on Taka’s shoulder burns straight through clothing and into skin.

It’s nothing. It’s nothing. Taka exhales, relaxing away the tension. It’s nothing. It’s - 

“Nothing. I wasn’t expecting that, is all.”

Carver pulls his hand away. “Thank you,” he says, gruff. “I accept your apology.”

Taka wards off the shiver as long as he can, and thankfully that’s halfway down the hall to his room, well after Carver’s door is closed. All is still he enters, as suspended in time as the moonbeam that cuts through the window, imprinting itself on the darkness. Taka presses himself against his door, melding his back to the wood, and tries to calm the heartbeat galloping thunderous and wild in his ears.

That was too close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much for releasing on schedule. I'm impatient, which is good for you guys, right? I was shooting for once a week...
> 
> Comments always loved and appreciated. <3


	3. Chapter 3

Morning dawns golden and serene, at least that’s what Taka assumes; he misses it. When he wakes it’s already bright, but the sleep lies heavy in his bones and all he can do is close his eyes and drowse the stiffness away, his lucid dreams tainted by the garbled, discordant song worming through the thoughts in his head.

Eventually he rouses, acutely aware of how late it is. Carver will disapprove, but Taka’s got plenty of experience ignoring him. He performs his ablutions, checks his gear quickly but thoroughly, and gets himself dressed, glancing at himself in the mirror often as he does so. Taka isn’t the beautiful youth he once was, but with silver creeping in on his temples and a laugh line or two around his eyes and mouth, he isn’t half bad.

He could use some sun. Taka’s more robust summer color has finally faded, leaving him with lighter gold undertones instead of the bronze he thinks is more flattering. He’s still handsome, though. Rakishly handsome, and aging well. No shadows marr his face, and his deep brown eyes are clear. His hair remains as black as ink, even without a diet regular in seaweed.

Taka congratulates himself on his modesty, swinging on his rucksack, giving his unstrung bow a little toss in the air before catching it. A cheerful demeanor and a smile complete his look, and Taka exits his room, whistling tunelessly as he trots down the stairs.

There’s a basket waiting for him on the table with his name on it, evidence of how late he’s slept in. Taka scoops it up and brings it outside, bearing right towards the barn. In the distance he can see men and women gathered in a circle in one of the paddocks. Two horses stand at the barn door, tacked up and ready.

“Good morning! What’s going on?” Taka asks Seanna as he approaches, setting down his rucksack, balancing his bow atop it. He reaches into the basket; it yields a fresh muffin. His stomach rumbles. Taka crams the muffin into his mouth.

“Good morning,” Seanna replies, smiling affectionately at him despite his imitation of a chipmunk. She makes no move to touch him however, and that’s exactly the way Taka likes it. Clean and professional, no emotions involved. “Some of the guardsmen wanted to spar with Carver. He got tired of waiting for you and indulged them. Sleep well?”

“How could I not?” Taka says, grinning to sell the lie. Good sleep has been scarce for months, excepting Sanctuary. “With such hospitality as you’ve shown?”

Seanna’s eyes crinkle with genuine amusement. “Thank you. You are welcome to stay any time you wish, Taka, with or without orders from Aeveth.”

“Thank you. I will hold you to your word on that next time we pass through.” Taka doesn’t turn down offers when he gets them; a friendly face and a warm body in bed with him is preferable to being alone.

Carver spots him then, and Taka lifts a hand in greeting. Carver salutes the guards before handing over his practice sword, pivoting to face Taka. Carver’s wearing even less than what he wore at dinner the night before, just leather breeches and a sleeveless undershirt that’s been patched and patched again. Carver uses his clothes hard no matter the quality, and Taka has spent many a watch darning tears for him. Taka’s stitches are neater and Carver’s clumsy with a needle, or so he says. Really, Taka doesn’t mind the sewing, nor the grateful looks Carver gives him.

Taka shivers when the wind picks up. It’s chilly out even with the sunshine, a proper Kirkwall winter’s day, but Carver doesn’t seem to notice. The light gleams off the sweat on Carver’s shoulders and arms, and it only serves to enhance his muscles. 

Taka catches the faint smile around Seanna’s mouth. _Me too_ , he thinks, stilling his own face.

Carver vaults over the fence instead of using the gate, landing with a bounce, shifting into the energized, jaunty walk he uses when he’s cocky and fresh out of the ring. “You’re finally up,” he says, his breath plumes of mist in the air.

“Good morning to you too,” Taka says, bending down to place the basket on the ground. There’s a rag in the outer layer of his rucksack he can get to without much trouble. He rummages around without disturbing his bow, then hauls it out.

Carver folds the rag in quarters and begins wiping himself down. “Took long enough.”

“Had a long night.” Taka winks. Then he tosses a wink at Seanna for good measure.

“Oh, stop it.” Carver rolls his eyes and hands the rag back.

Taka makes a face, holding the rag with his fingertips, going to the nearest water barrel so he can rinse it out. The water is freezing, and Taka shakes his hands out vigorously once he’s wrung the rag mostly dry. He debates sneaking up on Carver and shoving the rag down his shirt as he’s getting dressed.

It isn’t worth the trouble, Taka decides, snapping out the rag and folding it for storage. He crams it into his rucksack, then joins Lang by the horses, surveying the pair critically.

“Morning,” Lang says.

“Morning,” Taka replies. “Introduce me to our new friends?”

Lang gestures to a finely-bred blood bay mare with a narrow blaze charging down a slightly dished head. Taka estimates her to be a bit over sixteen hands. “This is Hooty. Bright and a bit willful, goes easy enough but will go better if you have manners.”

“Hello, Hooty,” Taka says, reaching a hand out and waiting. Hooty extends, sniffing him once before pushing her nose against his palm. “I definitely have manners. Why is she named Hooty?”

“You’ll find that out soon enough,” Lang says, chuckling. “And this other one here is Bear. Named because he’s big and sleeps like the dead. Doesn’t take no guff from anyone and just wants to do his job.”

Taka puts a hand out for Bear, who doesn’t react. Bear is a bit taller than Hooty, his dun coat splashed liberally with white, deep-chested with good legs and feet the size of dishes. “Hello, Bear,” Taka greets him, stroking his nose. “I think you’ll be great for Carver. The last thing he needs is to think he can boss someone around.”

“I heard that,” Carver calls from where he’s lacing on his gambeson. “You’ve got some nerve, Taka. You’re the one who slept in.”

Rather than say anything, Taka simply shoulders the blame. “I figured I’d get one last night of rest in a real bed before the long trip to Ansburg.”

“Can’t blame him for that,” Lang says, nodding. 

“See, Lang agrees with me.” Taka flashes Carver a smile, then goes to Bear to adjust stirrups. “Come mount up so we can fix the saddle for you, Carver.”

Carver doesn’t so much mount his horse as he heaves himself on, which makes Lang, Seanna, and Taka sigh. “You’ll need to teach him,” Seanna says from Carver’s other side, working together with Taka to bring down the stirrups.

“I’ve taught him,” Taka responds, “but I think he’s forgotten.”

“I’m right here,” Carver mutters.

“I think he’s forgotten because it’s been such a long time since he’s last sat a horse, and not because he’s a blockhead,” Taka continues.

“Aw, Carver, he’s being so kind!” Seanna snickers.

Carver shakes his head. “Wait for it.”

“Though he does act like a blockhead,” Taka adds.

“And there it is.”

Seanna laughs. “Isn’t it a bit early to be bickering like a married couple?”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Taka says, dragging his rucksack over so he can tie it to Hooty’s saddle.

Carver grunts. “Same.”

“I mean, can you imagine me? Married?” Taka scoffs. “Tied down? To a single person?”

“No,” Lang says dryly, looking pointedly at Carver. “Never.”

 _Sweet Maker, does everyone know? Or am I being paranoid?_ “I don’t like the cut of your jib, Lang. Carver doesn’t count. I’m assigned to him.”

“You just said last night -” Carver begins, spluttering.

“Bugger what I said last night,” Taka interrupts him, forcing a grin when he realizes he can’t recall to the word what he said.

Carver scowls, mouthing something to himself.

“Well, let me extend Carver’s and my thanks to you and Lang, Seanna.” Taka, in contrast to Carver, lifts himself into his saddle with ease. Hooty flicks her ears back and forth as she susses Taka out. “Carver’s right, though. It’s well past time we left. Until we meet again.”

“Safe travels,” Seanna says, moving aside. “Until we meet again.”

They trot for a while once they’re on the main road heading east. Taka settles into his horse’s rhythm without thinking; it takes longer for Carver, but he does eventually settle. Carver isn’t a bad horseman, or rather, has the potential to be quite a decent one with time, practice, and good teaching. They haven’t ridden in at least a year, but from the looks of it Carver does remember how to sit a trot correctly. For that Taka takes credit, even if Carver’s an exceptionally good student. He’s physically gifted to an unnatural degree.

Carver’s voice breaks Taka’s stream of thought. “What are you thinking about?”

Taka replies without thinking. “Your riding.”

That gets Carver to scowl again. “Leave me alone.”

“You asked.” He could tell Carver the truth, but Taka chooses to push instead. He holds his face in as neutral an expression as he can. “You didn’t have to.”

“Who’s in the mood today, I wonder?” Carver grumbles, looking away. “Yesterday _and_ today. Maker.”

“I was actually thinking you’ve done well in remembering the lessons I taught you, but since you are reacting this way we can keep the silence, and think better of each other.”

“You’re being weird.” Carver narrows his eyes. “You’re being really weird.”

“Says the man who asked what I was thinking out of the blue. You never do that. Who’s the weird one now?” Taka lays the bait out, waits for Carver to take it. _Forget I asked_ , Taka thinks. _Do it, Carver. Say it._

“I was just trying -” Carver cuts himself off, frustrated. “Never mind. Forget I asked.”

Taka sniffs, self-satisfied. “Gladly.”

They ride on in uncomfortable silence until Carver opens his mouth again. “You just had a different look on your face.”

One breath in and out becomes two. Taka keeps his head facing forward, but cuts his eyes towards Carver. “I have a lot of different looks on my face all the time. After all these years, you’ve finally noticed!”

Carver grinds his teeth. “What is wrong with you? What’s your problem? Did Seanna turn you down? You’re being extra bitchy today.”

Taka could name all the things bothering him: the Taint, Carver, Taka’s feelings, his feelings about his feelings. Suddenly, memories of training in Weisshaupt swarm him, and Taka recalls how Carver whipped him gleefully at every weapon imaginable except the bow and the one-handed sword. Things were simpler then.

Ten years, it’s been ten years. Taka can hardly believe it.

He must have taken too long to reply, because Carver follows it up with, “Taka?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s with you?”

He shakes himself, sighing. “Nothing. I appreciate the concern.”

“About last night…”

“Seanna didn’t turn me down, if that’s what you’re asking after.” Taka deliberately answers the wrong question, and steadfastly ignores the weight of Carver’s eyes on him. “Were you interested in her?”

“No,” Carver says, “it isn’t that.”

Taka knows better than to ask the next question. He deflects it with a statement instead. “Good. I don’t like stepping on your toes. You should take every opportunity presented to you.”

Carver says, exasperated, “Can you stop thinking about sex all the time? You’re as bad as Isabela, but at least she’s funnier about it.”

“A kindred spirit, that one.” A real smile spreads across Taka’s face. “Though I take umbrage at her being funnier. I would say we are equal amounts of funny.”

“Look, I’m just trying -”

“And I appreciate it, but you needn’t bother. Nothing’s wrong.” Except for not being able to remember exactly what he said to Carver. Taka’s likely more tired than he feels. The morning’s half-sleep hasn’t helped.

“Bullshit,” Carver retorts. “But I’ll shut up about it. You’ll tell me eventually.”

Taka snorts loudly enough to make Hooty lay her ears back at him. “Unlikely, as nothing’s the matter.”

“You keep saying that, but you’re the one acting strange.”

A little bit of the truth can’t hurt, Taka reasons, if it gets Carver off his back. “Fine,” Taka says. “I was thinking about how you’ve improved at riding despite the lack of practice, and how you’ve always had the knack for these things. You used to beat me in training all the time, and I had excellent instructors.”

Maker, Carver is so easy. So delightfully, refreshingly easy. Taka watches Carver’s chest inflate before his very eyes. “I did, didn’t I? I did.”

Time to finish it. “That’s something even your sister never had. You can pick up any weapon and use it, and if you put your mind to it and practiced more, you’d be a more than adequate horseman.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me in a while.” Carver beams a little. The temperature warms. “Other than last night.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Taka says, responding to Carver with his own bright smile, allowing himself a second of freedom. He leans forward, urging Hooty into a gallop. “But I’d still win a race no matter how much you improve. Hah!”

“Hey!” Carver half-yells, but Taka is already gone, running as fast as he can from his emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will try to hold myself to twice a week - I figured once a week was too long because of how short these chapters were. If I were going to drop a 10k bomb on you I'd wait two weeks, but these are much, much smaller.
> 
> Things will pick up and get more serious soon, I promise.
> 
> As always, comments feed me! And coffee.


	4. Chapter 4

“Taka.”

He knows it’s a dream. It’s happened many times before, this beginning where Carver calls his name softly, and Taka responds with all of himself, helpless against the gentility in Carver’s voice. In this moment Taka always believes he and Carver are lovers, knows it undisputed in his heart. The next second brings doubt, and a fracturing, and endings infinitely varied.

But for now Taka has this truth, and wants to float in it as long as he can.

“Taka.”

Taka walks through the double balcony doors of the guest bedroom, gauzy curtains flowing over his arm as he passes. Carver’s sitting in the patio chair that faces out towards the empty evergreen pastures of the Trevelyan farm, a breeze stirring his black hair. Taka goes up to the chair, his fingers brushing back the lock of hair that always falls onto Carver’s forehead. Then he puts his hand on Carver’s shoulder.

They watch the horizon blush itself into day. It’s eerily still, but Taka can put aside his unease as long as Carver’s here. He leans down to press a kiss into the crown of Carver’s head.

“Taka,” Carver says, his hand coming up, brushing Taka’s in a gesture that can only be described as tender. A tide of alarm rises in him. Taka frowns, troubled, but he twines his fingers with Carver’s nevertheless.

Movement catches his eye. Ink spills into the sunrise, washing into it as if it were rice paper. He hears someone singing beautifully beneath the balcony. The melody pulls at him so hard he thinks he should be lifted off his feet. He moves, taking a step towards the railing.

“Taka,” Carver murmurs, and he stops.

The voice becomes two. Taka takes another step, compelled, but is halted by the touch of Carver’s lips over his knuckles. He holds himself still, at war with himself. Two voices become three, then four, multiplying into a chorus faster than he can count. He can understand some of the words though the language is foreign. It’s enough, though. The meaning is clear.

He has to go. He _has_ to.

“Taka, please.”

When Taka looks down he starts with a shout, yanking his hand out of Carver’s, scrambling away. His chest heaves with wild breaths as Carver stands, his shoulders stooping unnaturally, darkened veins pulsing through parchment skin in time to the ebb and flow of the music. The shadows around his deadened blue eyes go too deep. Carver reaches for him, and everything shifts, and then his hands are around Taka’s throat, squeezing, thumbs crushing his trachea. 

“Taka,” Carver says, his voice untouched by darkness. Taka gags, clawing at Carver’s fingers.

“Taka!”

Taka’s eyes spring open. He should be gasping but his body doesn’t react, the sleep a lead weight in his bones, pressing, pressing. Panic rises as he fights against himself, the Taint thrumming madly through him, bursting into full-throated song as he lies paralyzed on his bedroll. His chest aches as if a stake has been driven through him, pinning his breath to the ground.

“Taka, are you all right?”

He focuses on Carver, whose complexion is a healthy shade of pale, eyes as crystalline and blue as they were yesterday. Taka blinks wide eyes twice, sucks in a strangled breath. He can’t speak or move.

“Shit. All right, fine.” Carver rises and walks away. “Shit,” Taka hears him say again.

There’s only one thing to do, and that’s to wait for the terror to ease down. Taka closes his eyes and drowzes for what seems like a minute or two. He’s outside time in this state; it could be several hours. When he comes back to himself he’s able to breathe deeply, his body waking up in the correct way. Taka wiggles his toes to make sure before he pushes himself upright. Maker, he’s exhausted.

Carver raises his head, turning towards him, their eyes meeting.

“Rough night,” he says finally.

“Yeah?” Taka rubs the heel of his hand over his face. “Glad I missed it, then.”

“I meant you had a rough night.”

It certainly feels like it. “I’m good now.”

“Taka, you had nightmares.”

Not that he can recall except for the last one. “It happens from time to time. Nothing to worry about, you know that.” But worry gnaws its way into his gut regardless. Taka doesn’t want to be sure about the end, but he’s been on the approach since well before the new year.

“You were talking.”

“I do that all the time.”

“About finding someone or something.”

Taka can’t avoid seeing the unmasked concern on Carver’s face. “That’s a common element of dreams.”

“Taka, it wasn’t…it wasn’t that.”

He finds himself unable to handle the way Carver’s looking at him. He’s probably only thinking of Taka as a work partner and wondering who his next assignment will be. It hurts, but that’s been Taka’s goal, hasn’t it? He jokes about it instead. “What was it, then? I think your worry is unfounded, but if it isn’t, take heart. Change is good, Carver.”

Carver scowls. “That’s not funny.”

“Heh. I thought it was.” Taka rolls himself to his feet, stands and stretches, listens for the various pops that tell him how old he is.

“Has this been happening a lot?” Carver’s unwilling to let it go, and that’s a bad sign.

“The nightmares?” Taka shrugs. “Can’t say it has.” That isn’t precisely a lie; Taka doesn’t remember his dreams often, so he can’t report on what he doesn’t know. The paralysis, on the other hand, is troubling. Perhaps he can flee back to Sanctuary and live out the rest of his days peacefully in Aeveth’s basement, where Michel can put him out of his misery once he’s too far gone. The bastard wouldn’t hesitate.

“You’ve got to tell me if it gets worse.” Carver stands as well. “If it starts being a real problem.”

A scoff. “That isn’t very Grey Warden-like at all. We’re supposed to endure our suffering in stoic silence or something.”

“You know I’ll go down with you, right?” Carver closes the distance between them, intense. “That I’ll go to the doors with you when it’s time? Beyond the doors?”

Taka knows, but hearing it from Carver is different. It makes his chest ache, his blood rushing so hard he gets lightheaded. Carver’s willing to lay his life down for Taka, but he can never know how Taka feels. He might change his mind, and Taka has no wish to entertain the notion of what might happen. “I know. And the same for you. Because we’re partners.”

“Yes,” Carver affirms.

“But I would also do that for any of our fellow wardens,” Taka adds.

“Beyond the doors too?” Carver asks, dubious. “You think they’d go past the doors for you? You’d do it for them?”

“No,” Taka concedes quietly. “Beyond the doors? Only for you.”

Carver has no response except to stare at Taka. It gets awkward. Taka leaves Carver and the unrelenting blue of his eyes and goes to a nearby creek in order to freshen up. When he comes back he finds Carver’s poked the fire back to life and is heating a pan to cook eggs.

“I’ll start packing up,” Taka says, pretending everything is normal.

Carver grunts. “Can we have an honest conversation?”

Taka’s skin prickles; he has to be on high alert. It’s a dangerous situation any time Carver asks to have an honest conversation, which is to say that he’s never done it and Taka is likely in some kind of trouble. He’ll need to play smart and cautious.

He stoops to collect his bedroll. “Didn’t we just have one?”

“No, because you have a dodgy relationship with honesty.” Carver gives him a pointed glare, then stands.

Taka puts a hand on his chest. “That would hurt me if it weren’t so true. You did say a couple of days ago you should have known better than to expect me to tell the truth. What makes you think I’ll be any different now?”

“Because this time you have nowhere to run. And I’m going to be straight to the point.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not going to -”

“Sparrow told me you’re in love with me. Is that true?” Carver crosses his arms.

Taka tries desperately to gather his scattering thoughts, reeling. It feels similar to being punched in the temple, and as heartbeats thump by Taka fights to say something. This had been a possibility he’d planned for the second Wren saw through him and spoke his deepest secret into existence. 

“Sure, I love you. Like a brother. That’s nothing new.” Taka shrugs, but he’s beyond mortified. If he were presented with the option of dropping dead in the next few seconds, he would take it.

“That’s not how Sparrow meant it.”

Time to deny everything. It’s worked to convince himself so far. Taka throws his head back and laughs as loudly as he can, hands on his hips. “Carver Hawke!” Taka exclaims through bursts of laughter. “How old are you? Really? Sparrow is nine! Please tell me you didn’t take her seriously.”

The expression on Carver’s face makes Taka’s stomach drop. “You took her seriously. Maker’s ass, Carver!”

Carver continues being silent, so Taka keeps talking. “I thought this might happen. I think Wren must have put the notion in her head. I was confident you wouldn’t believe her. Carver, please. She’s a child.”

But Carver only tilts his head, broadening his stance, pursing his lips in such a way that it makes his jaw jut out. “You haven’t said whether it’s true or not.”

Taka squares his shoulders to face Carver, meeting his partner’s eyes. This is in all likeliness the lie that will wind up killing him. Taka wants to shout yes, _yes,_ and Maker take the consequences, but Carver can’t know. Not ever. Taka had vowed years ago to take the knowledge to his grave. He doesn’t want to destroy what he has, is aware Carver will never love him in return. The best he can have is this. 

He can only have this.

“No,” Taka says softly, imbuing his words with as much sincerity as possible. “It isn’t. I’m not in love with you.”

Taka’s entire body tenses, his pulse hammering fast and loud, sweat breaking out over his skin. He has to keep his face still, freeze it so his body won’t give away what his heart and mind and screaming. Maker, he’s such a fool. He’s a fucking fool, a damned idiot, just so fucking stupid for bringing all this upon himself. Taka wants to say yes so badly his chest hurts with it. He wants to say yes so badly that if he doesn’t clench his teeth, the word will leap from his throat, and what then? It’ll all be ruined.

Carver sighs, his eyelids lowering for half a second. Then he straightens and looks at Taka. “I don’t believe you.”

Maker’s wrinkly fucking balls, Andraste’s cursed saggy tits, Astyth’s damned fucking stitches. Taka’s heart soars, but he takes it in hand and crushes it back down to earth. He can’t be reacting emotionally at this moment. Taka has to be flippant, make it sound like nothing.

“Why not? You’d take the word of a nine-year-old girl over mine?”

“I’ve been doing some thinking and -”

“Don’t.” Taka laughs short and sharp. “My advice is not to listen to children on flights of imagination."

Carver looks hurt. “Why are you like this?”

Taka throws it right back. “Like what? Why is this even an issue? Did you want me to fancy you? I don’t.” Maker, every time he denies it he feels a piece of himself shriveling into nothing.

“All you can do is lie right now.” Carver’s brows draw down in anger.

“I’m not lying. This shouldn’t be an issue. Carver, why would you let a little girl get to you in this fashion? Is this some kind of revenge for all the teasing? I’m sorry, all right? I went too far and I admit it. Now put the idea out of your head. We’ve work to do.” Taka crosses his own arms to mirror Carver, but digs his thumb into the underside of his bicep until he touches bone. The pain will keep his mind clear.

“Is it that repulsive? The idea of fancying me, that is?”

Unbelievable, unfuckingbelievable. “It isn’t repulsive. Obviously someone out there fancies you. There was that village south of Starkhaven. Other towns and cities we’ve been through. I bet if you gave Wren that smile of yours she’d be willing.”

“Just not you.”

On the contrary, Taka more than anyone else. He’s been physically attracted to Carver since the second they met. “Why are we arguing about this? What are you trying to hold over my head?” Logical, not emotional. _Logical,_ not emotional.

Carver takes half a step forward. “I’m not trying to hold anything over your head!”

“Then stop all of this so we can pack our things and get back on the road!”

Carver practically shouts. “How long do you have, Taka?”

Stunned, Taka says, “Pardon?”

Carver repeats himself through gritted teeth. “How long. Do you have.”

Taka clears his throat, his mind racing. “Are we arguing about two things or one right now?”

“Everything. You’ve been keeping secrets from me and acting strange. How long do you have? Answer me truthfully.” Carver’s eyes burn like brands.

Taka shakes his head. “Plenty of time. I told you it’s nothing to worry about. Are we done here?”

“Stop lying, for Andraste’s sake! I felt the Taint in you this morning. How long have you known?” Carver’s nearly vibrating with emotion. Taka hasn’t seen Carver this upset since that time in the Deep Roads. In a way it’s gratifying.

“I’m not lying. I don’t think…” Here Taka takes a deep breath, holding it carefully so it won’t break him. “I’m sure I have time left. Another year. Maybe two. More than enough time to get to Ansburg and Weisshaupt and get my affairs in order. I haven’t been keeping this a secret from you, either. I’ve only recently started to suspect.”

“Only a year? Maybe two?” Carver’s uncrossed his arms; they’re at his side now, hands curled into fists, shaking. “This is what you think of as plenty of time?”

Too much time, in fact. Having to hide the true nature of his feelings for Carver has eaten away at Taka’s will to live, and at this point Taka’s too tired and ready to give up. Imagine him laid low by a broken heart over unrequited love. All his lovers would laugh themselves silly if they knew.

Suddenly he can’t look at Carver. Taka chooses to fixate on the pan instead, which is beginning to shimmer with heat. He sympathizes. “That’s enough time to make another round of the Marches. I’ll see Aeveth at next new year’s, too. I’m sure of it. The pan is too hot, Carver.”

Carver spins around, shoves his foot into the fire, hooks the bottom of the pan with the toe of his boot, and flings it away with a snap kick. “There,” he snarls, stomping closer until they’re separated by inches. “Is that bloody better?”

“Much,” Taka replies, baring his teeth in an incredibly fake smile. “Thank you. Now if we’re done having outbursts, I’ve got to finish packing up.”

“We aren’t done,” Carver growls. “I said I did some thinking before.”

“Not that again. Carver, please.”

“Sparrow wouldn’t come to me if there wasn’t some truth to her words.”

Dread fills Taka’s mouth, desiccates his throat. He can’t speak for fear of what’s next.

“I want you to stop lying, Taka.”

“I haven’t lied.”

Carver shakes his head. “You’ve been lying to me for two days.”

Maker, Taka’s been lying to himself for a roundabout eight years, but he isn’t going to correct Carver. “Why are you so fixated on this? Do you want me to say yes?”

The softness in Carver’s eyes almost stops Taka’s heart. Carver’s next words steal all the air.

“Would it be,” Carver says, then swallows. “What if I did?”

Taka locks his knees to keep from collapsing, fear and anxiety and sudden, inexplicable joy crashing into him, overwhelming him, rolling him under the surface of the ocean. He stares at Carver, mute and terrified, unsure how to react. It’s all too easy to jump to conclusions with a hypothetical question in play.

It has to be a trap, and Taka’s going to fall for it.

“Taka,” Carver murmurs, which sounds ridiculous coming from a man that large. But Taka’s so precariously balanced that anything louder might tip him over and shatter him into pieces. “Do you...love me?”

He could answer in a dozen ways. He could say he loves Carver like a brother - he already has. He could say he loves Carver platonically as a friend. He could say he loved Carver once, but the feeling has faded. He could say he loves Carver in battle, because Carver’s saved his life countless times and Taka -

“I do,” Taka whispers, defeated.

And then everything goes blank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scheduled release thing is for the birds. I have no discipline (but I will try not to release 5 until next week).
> 
> However I did feel bad about leaving you guys with a chapter that amounted to nothing, so have one with important stuff in it!
> 
> (I will love you forever if you leave comments!)


	5. Chapter 5

Taka sits on the ground, arms around the bedroll in his lap, and stares shell-shocked into the distance. Carver sits next to him, just as silent.

They say nothing for an hour.

The sun climbs above their heads, warming Taka’s shoulders. Carver fidgets, gets up, does a few chores. He stirs the fire back up and puts the pan on, takes Taka’s bedroll from him, packs Taka’s rucksack how Taka likes it. He makes the eggs over medium, or tries to. He doesn’t have the necessary touch. One of the yolks breaks.

“Here,” Carver says brusquely, setting a plate down beside Taka. He’s given Taka the one with the yolk intact.

Taka simply looks at Carver, numb, and goes back to contemplating the emptiness of his existence.

Carver douses the fire and goes to clean himself up. When he comes back he rolls his things expertly into the large oilcloth Isabela gifted him, binds it tight with a length of rope. He picks up both sacks and drops them by the saddles, then comes back to check on Taka.

“You haven’t eaten anything,” he says.

Taka hasn’t eaten anything. He’s got no appetite and can’t imagine having one. All he has is a blankness stretching out inside him. Eight years undone in mere moments, eight years ripped up and tossed away after the tiniest bit of applied pressure. Taka doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Well, he could run. He could embrace his duty immediately and leave for the Deep Roads.

Except Carver would go with him, and the idea of that breaks Taka further. There’s no way he would allow Carver to accompany him now. Maker, it’s very possible Carver would rescind the offer. It wouldn’t surprise Taka in the least. So, sitting then. Until something happens. Until day turns to night and Carver abandons him and Taka gets devoured by wolves or dragonlings or whatever eldritch abominations are wandering around the area.

“I think this is the longest I’ve ever seen you go without talking,” Carver says.

The one time Taka wants nothing to do with Carver, he’s trapped alone in the mountains with him. Taka picks up the plate with his egg, now cold, and gives it back to Carver. He could tell Carver to leave him alone to die, but Taka figures that won’t accomplish anything. Carver’s a tactless blockhead.

Carver sighs, eats the egg in one bite, and goes to wash the plate off. “Taka,” he says when he returns. “Get up. I can’t… I don’t know how to take care of the horses the way you do.”

The horses. Taka’s forgotten about them. He looks over at where they’re staked. He should at least get Bear ready to facilitate Carver’s journey to Ansburg.

Taka unfolds his legs and stands slowly, stumbling when he realizes both feet have fallen asleep. Carver extends an arm but Taka ignores him, finding a tottering equilibrium as he walks towards the horses. He grimaces as the pins and needles start up, hissing at the surge of pain. Hooty lifts her head as he approaches.

He can’t well neglect Hooty either. Taka undoes the rope attached to the stake and leads her to the creek so she can drink, rubbing her nose absently. He re-stakes her and gives her rations once he’s back, then takes Bear to do the same.

“Taka,” Carver says.

Taka ignores Carver again and walks off, Bear in tow. He checks Hooty’s bag on his return, shakes grain into Bear’s feedbag, slips it over the horse’s head.

“Taka, talk to me.”

“Don’t ride hard for a while. Like an hour.” Taka can’t handle looking directly at Carver, and he speaks with little inflection. “They’ve just been fed and watered, so they’ll need time to digest.”

“All right,” Carver replies, “but why are you telling me this?”

“Listen for Bear’s breathing when you cinch the girth strap. Some horses hold their breath. Last thing I want is for you to slide off his back mid-ride.”

“Is this a lesson, or…?”

“You can travel faster if you switch between Bear and Hooty. Just be sure to give them plenty of water and shift the weight around.”

Carver narrows his eyes. “Now you’re being stupid.”

No, Taka thinks, he was stupid years ago when he didn’t request a reassignment the moment he knew. Stupid was thinking he could stay partnered with Carver. Stupid was assuming he could keep his emotions to himself without detriment. Stupid was falling for Carver’s trap. When had he gotten that clever? When had Taka gotten so weak?

Love is entirely stupid, Taka concludes, and he hates everything to do with it.

Taka shrugs, looking at a point over Carver’s shoulder. “Guilty as charged. I’ll get Bear tacked up. You’ve lost a lot of time today.”

“Really stupid,” Carver says.

“That’s rich coming from you,” Taka says, but there’s no heat in it.

Carver glares. “You’re a fucking tit, and we have to be on our way.”

“What do you want, Carver?” Taka throws his hands up, helpless. “After what happened? Congratulations, well played. I didn’t think you had it in you. If I weren’t dying on the inside I’d applaud your tactics. As I’m still smarting, you should let me absorb my defeat in solitude.”

“I want to get to Ansburg with you, is what.”

Taka quashes the flicker of hope that sparks in him. “Wonderful. That’s cruel of you. The cat’s out of the bag, isn’t that enough?”

Carver moves, putting himself in Taka’s line of sight. “Nothing has to change. We’re still partners.”

_But not lovers,_ Taka thinks. _Not anything more than close friends or co-workers._ Carver’s naïveté would in another situation be humorous and refreshing, but here it fills Taka with bitterness. Nothing has to change, but it’s too late. Everything has changed, and it can’t be fixed.

He breathes in. “I’ll speak to Divia when we arrive for a reassignment. Partnerships weren’t meant to last as long as this one has, anyway. Funny how we haven’t been sent out separately in years, isn’t it?”

Carver bristles, angry, but Taka’s used to it. Carver’s first reaction to anything is anger. He’ll get over it in time. “I used to request you when it was time for the lottery,” Taka continues. “Selfish, but that’s who I am. The first or second time we were paired, maybe it was chance. The rest?”

Taka sighs. “I think Rith and I get along well, don’t you?”

“He’s daggers,” Carver growls. “It wouldn’t work.”

“Thom, then. Rainier can pick up any weapon, same as you.”

“Quit being stupid, Taka.”

“No.”

“Shut up and just get on the fucking horse then.” Carver bends down to grab a saddle, and shoves it hard into Taka’s chest.

Taka catches it reflexively with an _oof,_ taking a few steps back to absorb the force. The brute forgets how strong he is sometimes. Taka glances down.

“This is Bear’s saddle, Carver.”

“Maker,” Carver says, disgusted, yanking the saddle from Taka’s hands. He replaces it with Hooty’s saddle. “I hate you so much. Shut up and get on the bloody horse.”

*** *** ***

Against his better judgment, Taka continues the trip with Carver. When he protests Carver hauls him up and directs him towards Hooty. Taka tries bottling his emotions up instead, thinking it reasonable to disengage and stay disengaged. It bothers Carver and he says so, but Taka walls himself off, and eventually Carver subsides.

The silence isn’t threatening, just awkward, trending towards unbearable. Taka doesn’t want to imagine what’s going through Carver’s mind as they ride. They’re used to chatting, but Taka has nothing to chat about save the feelings he refuses to acknowledge. Things have changed, and he reminds himself of that every other minute. He keeps his mouth firmly closed. Carver’s told him to, anyway.

The days stretch on with agonizing slowness. Taka speaks to Carver only when he has to. Years of habit and routine take care of everything else. Taka begins talking to Hooty when they take breaks, narrating his actions when he brushes her, exclaiming over how well kept she is, how beautiful her feet are, praising her conformation. Carver looks on, scowling, but Taka excludes him from the conversation, doubling down on bonding with Hooty.

Hooty blows raspberries at him in response. The first time she does it Taka has no choice but to break into laughter, holding his stomach as she nods her head and does her best impression of a fart. He’s almost in tears as he supports himself with a hand on her shoulder, her lead rope dropped and forgotten on the ground. Maker, it feels good to laugh again, especially over something this innocent.

Bear on the other hand is calm and placid, too calm and placid for Taka. Carver doesn’t verbalize his thoughts as Taka does, so the two of them plod on as Taka natters away to Hooty about everything and nothing. At night Bear drops to the ground, his bulk throwing up small clouds of dirt, and gives the truth to Lang’s words about sleeping like the dead. Hooty stands watch over Bear’s sprawled-out body, and after a couple of days Taka moves his bedroll over to the picket line, finding it easier to sleep there, warding away Carver and his worry in case the sleep paralysis happens again.

It does so each morning. Hooty stands watch over Taka too.

“I’m going to be sad to send you back,” Taka tells her on the approach to Ostwick. “I think you and I have made great strides. Though you have a silly name. If you were my horse, I’d have to give you a different one. Something more regal.” He leans forward to pat her on the neck. It’s nice to be with horses again, if briefly. Hooty likes to tickle him on the neck and lip at his hair when he’s sitting on the ground, and Taka doesn’t mind in the least.

“I’d have a gryphon if I could,” Taka continues. “But a horse is less likely to bite my face off. What do you think, Hooty? Can I keep you? I’d have to write Aeveth. You’re probably someone else’s horse.”

Hooty swivels an ear back and snorts.

Taka scrubs stiff fingers through her mane. “I’d teach you more tricks, too. You’re doing quite well and I think you’d enjoy it.” In the course of a week Hooty has picked up how to nod her head, in large part thanks to the crab apples Taka uses as a reward.

Carver opens his mouth, but Taka talks over him. “What do you think, girl? Should I teach you how to shake your head no? I feel that would backfire on me spectacularly.”

“If you get a horse, then I get a dog.” Carver eyes him as he cuts in. “I want a mabari. My sister had one. I want one. A boy. I’d name him Turnip.”

Taka stifles his laugh, then straightens his face. He doesn’t want to reply, but he does so regardless. “No dogs, and especially no mabari. They drool and smell.”

“That isn’t very Fereldan of you.”

“As it happens I’m not Fereldan, so it all works out.”

“Mabari can be Grey Wardens too,” Carver says, stubborn. “They can survive the Joining. My cousin had one named Barkspawn.”

“I remember.” And then because he can’t help himself - Carver is his partner after all, and talking is what they do when they’re alone and traveling - he says, “Terrible name.”

“It’s a fantastic name.”

“It sounds clever, but is actually dumb.”

“You watch your mouth. The king of Ferelden gave Barkspawn his name.”

Taka purses his lips. “And what does that say about the king of Ferelden?”

Carver mumbles something unintelligible.

“What was that?” Taka cups a hand around his ear. “He sounds clever, but is actually dumb? Something about making a deal no one in their right mind would take with his lover, you know, your cousin, Mirana Amell, the Hero of Ferelden, and then losing her to an elven Antivan Crow?”

“That was nearly twenty years ago!” Carver sounds sulky anyway. “He’s better now. Probably.”

“Should have stayed a warden like us,” Taka says, shrugging. “It would have made Aeveth’s job much easier.”

“Maybe we’d all have dogs if he did.”

“Maker forbid. I don’t want a dog.” Taka frowns, uncomfortable with how much liberty he’s given himself. It almost feels normal.

He won’t permit it.

“A dog would be better for flushing rabbits out of their holes,” Carver says.

Taka goes for the easy target so that Carver will be quiet. “Good point. I’ll exchange you for the dog, and I’ll keep the horse as well.”

Carver’s face folds in on itself, darkening.

Taka digs in further. “When we get to Ansburg you can take it up with your next partner.”

“Andraste’s tits, Taka, I don’t want -” Carver shuts his mouth with a click.

“- this?” Taka finishes for him, gesturing to the space between them. “Yeah, I understand.”

“For a second I thought… You know what?” Carver says, heated. “I put in for you too. In the lottery.”

“I didn’t know that. You didn’t have to.” Disengage, disengage. There’s no need to get swept up in emotion, no need to indulge the building distress at his situation and the accompanying edginess.

Carver makes a strangled sound and rolls his eyes, then looks beseechingly into the sky as if the Maker will help. Unlikely, as no god or apostate has fried Taka with lightning yet. “Can you stop this now, Taka?”

Taka blows out a breath, trying to stay calm. “That’s precisely what I’m trying to do, Carver, and I’d have an easier time of it if you just went on without me, but no. For some reason you insist I come along.”

“Because you’re my _partner,_ ” Carver says, vehement, “and because I want you to.”

Taka’s face twitches before he lashes out. “For what? For fucking what? So you can gloat and be smug over how you’ve finally gotten me after all these years? I congratulated you already.”

“You think I’m acting smug?” Carver’s tone veers into incredulity. “You think I’m gloating?”

Hooty spooks under him; Taka’s reaction must have been stronger than he thought. “What, pray tell,” he snaps, enunciating every consonant, “might I think considering you haven’t given me any indication of how you feel or how you’re reacting?”

“I have been trying to get you to stay with me!” Carver snaps back.

“Carver Hawke,” Taka yells, which is concerning because Taka isn’t a yeller, “ _use your damned words next time!”_

Taka puts his heels to Hooty’s flanks, jolting her into a gallop. Carver’s yelling too, but Taka’s determined to ignore it. 

“Taka!” he hears. “Don’t you fucking run!”

Maker, he should have run ages ago. He should have run the second he realized what was happening, should have sacrificed the friendship for his mental well-being. Taka pushes Hooty as far as he dares, as if they can outdistance the regrets chasing them. When she begins laboring he slows her a gait at a time until she’s at a walk. He dismounts, flipping her reins over her head, and leads her so she can recover. She lowers her head, sides heaving.

Taka presses two fingers to his nose bridge, his chest brimming with guilt. Hooty’s trust in him is too new for him to take advantage of it this way. “I’m sorry,” he tells her, pulling off his gloves, running gentle, apologetic hands over her cheeks, her neck, her ears. “I’m sorry, girl. I shouldn’t have lost my temper and taken it out on you. I won’t do it again. I’ll give you a proper cool-down tonight when we get to the farm, and lots of hay, and piles of sugar cubes.”

It takes a while for Carver to catch up, but catch up he does. When he pulls alongside Taka he unleashes a full minute’s worth of swears so colorful they’d singe the ear hairs out of pirates. Bloody this and that, Carver hisses, and follows it with a steady stream of four-letter words, invective against several holy figures, pleas to the Maker for various types of natural disasters, and lastly but not leastly a thorough questioning of Taka’s lineage and family history.

Taka reflects for a moment once Carver’s finished. “Impressive,” he says finally. “That was creative and educational.”

“I used my words!” Carver snarls.

Taka can’t argue with that. “You did. Get off Bear and walk him.”

“Maker, I hate you.”

“I know.”

And Taka is fine with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill: comments make me love you forever (and I always respond). Onward and upward!


	6. Chapter 6

Taka and Carver arrive at the Trevelyan family farm in the mid-afternoon, bringing with them the first edge of a building winter storm. Taka’s half-convinced it’s his doing, what with his mood being so unpleasant. The tension between him and Carver has grown thick and soupy enough to generate constant rain.

As promised Taka cools Hooty down himself, waving off the stablehands that keep cropping up and offering help. “Help Bear and Carver instead,” he says for the umpteenth time, walking Hooty down the shedrow towards the well, her lead rope dangling slackened from a loose hand. He checks her condition thoroughly as he gives her a bath, pressing fingers up and down her legs, estimating how much weight she’s lost.

“Send for the farrier tomorrow,” Taka says to the head groom when he brings Hooty back in, her coat gleaming. “Give her hay and alfalfa and half a scoop of grain, then turn her out with Bear and let them stay out.”

“We have to resupply in town tomorrow,” Carver pipes up from where he’s leaning against Bear’s stall door.

Taka turns to him, surprised he’s still in the barn. “I thought you were already at the house.”

“I was waiting for you.”

Taka undoes Hooty’s lead once she’s in her stall and opens the half window, then closes the door behind him, trying to figure out what to say. “No need.”

“I wanted to.”

“You didn’t have to.” Taka frowns. “You can go. All the way to Ansburg.”

Carver frowns back. “And you?”

“I’ll stay here,” Taka says. “You can tell Divia I drowned in the ocean, fighting darkspawn.”

“That’s stupid,” Carver replies. “Darkspawn can’t even swim.”

Taka breathes in slowly, trying not to laugh, and puts his head in his hand. Trust Carver to latch onto darkspawn being unable to swim instead of darkspawn appearing in the ocean. “You don’t know that.”

“I do too. Remember that one time I knocked a darkspawn into a lake and it drowned?”

“No.”

“You had to fish it out before it tainted the water. We waited hours for it to dry out for burning because we didn’t want to strip it.”

It sounds like something Taka should remember, but he draws a blank. “I have no recollection of that.”

Confusion creeps slowly over Carver’s forehead, wrinkling it. “Ask Hurley if darkspawn get shrinkage?”

A pause. “I don’t remember that. I’m sorry. Sounds funny.”

“It was.” Carver speaks haltingly, uncertain. “We’ve joked about it for years.”

“Oh.” Taka pulls his lips into a line, then casts about for his rucksack. “I’m going in now.”

“What are you looking for?” Carver stands.

Taka puts his hands on his hips. “My gear. I thought I left it here.”

“Taka,” Carver says softly, “you gave it to a servant to take to your room.”

“Oh yes!” Taka exclaims after half a moment of bafflement, followed by half a moment of hesitation. All he recalls doing is giving Hooty a bath. “That’s right, I did. Well, Hooty is clean, so it’s my turn.”

He and Carver walk briskly to the manor house. Rather, Taka walks briskly, and Carver matches his stride without much effort. Taka splits from Carver to find his things, then sneaks into the master suite to take a long, hot bath. Neither his parents nor his uncle are in residence at present, so as the only Trevelyan around Taka figures he can commandeer the bathroom. 

After his bath Taka rings for a servant and orders him to bring the rest of his belongings to the master suite, along with dinner. If he’s going to use the grandest bathroom in the house he might as well use everything else attached to it. No half-assing, he thinks.

He doesn’t see Carver the rest of the night. That might have something to do with Taka not leaving the master suite, spending the late evening swanning around in a fluffy robe and reading the first few chapters of half a dozen books. He isn’t avoiding Carver, he tells himself. He’s getting some much-needed solitude.

The paralysis hits him again in the morning, piggybacking off another nightmare. Between panic attacks Taka tries to come to terms with the new normal, which nets him more panic attacks. Such is the life of a Grey Warden, he thinks when his body is his again. Taka rises shaky-kneed from his lucid nightmares, stares at his reflection for minutes on end trying to determine whether or not the shadows under his eyes are natural.

A year, he’d told Carver. Maybe two. Perhaps that was too optimistic. Taka ruminates as he brushes his teeth, calculating the number of years spent in the order. Twenty years is long enough, he concludes. Twenty-one will be a fine service, worthy of noting in the Book.

He leaves the bathroom and stands in front of the wide, Orlesian-style patio doors, hands on his hips. The weather outside matches his mood, the muted sky weeping copiously between windy tantrums that scour the stone walls. There’s no going to town today, or tomorrow depending on how long the storm lasts. Taka sighs, turning away, and shuffles over to the fire to warm himself as he gets dressed. 

One of the servants has come and gone, leaving behind a set of fresh clothes and a kettle full of well water. Taka fingers the black silk brocade of the thigh-length coat, then lifts it and views it upright. Exquisitely crafted golden frog closures march down the front, and on the back is the Trevelyan horse embroidered in golden thread. Intricate scrollwork picked out in the same golden thread decorate the hem and cuffs. All in all, it’s very subtle. Incredibly so. No one will ever know his status. Carver certainly won’t roll his eyes and make remarks about being spoiled.

Taka shakes his head. As an appreciator of luxury and comfort, it behooves him to wear the coat and the complementary trousers of soft, high-quality cotton, even if he didn’t choose them for himself. Personally, Taka likes things to be less ostentatious, unlike his father, who is the most likely owner of the coat. But it is also incumbent upon him to wear the fine, recently polished leather boots he knows will fit him perfectly. Taka wiggles his toes, then checks himself out in the full-length mirror on the inside of the wardrobe.

Not bad at all, he muses, rotating one way, then another, observing how the coat accentuates his shape, tapering down towards his still-trim waist. Every inch of him screams nobility. Taka chuckles at himself, lifting his chin a hair, drawing himself up. He can pretend he’s Lord Trevelyan for the day in this getup.

Lord Trevelyan must of course have tea, so Taka goes to the door to ring for a servant. It takes longer than Taka expects for the servant to show, and when she does she’s slightly out of breath, her cheeks and the tips of her ears flushed pink. Taka raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t recognize her; she must be new. The elven girl apologizes profusely.

“No need,” Taka tells her. “And no need to call me my lord, simply Taka will do. I only look the part today. Could I have some loose leaf tea please, from Bann Laeth’s personal stores if you would, and some breakfast? Two eggs over easy with the Rivaini sauce, a steamed bun, and a small bowl of rice.”

Taka adds a beguiling smile and the hint of a head tilt. He doesn’t feel like flirting, but it usually gets him faster service. “I would appreciate that deeply,” he says, and seals it with a slowed-down blink lasting not more than half a second.

“Yes, my lord,” the girl says, bowing, a shy smile blooming over her lips.

“Just Taka,” he reminds her. “Be swift.” He closes the door.

He reads the beginnings of a few more books, ones he hasn’t seen in years. They’re still boring and dry, all about war tactics or swordsmanship, subjects he’s studied since he was a child. It seems nothing has changed since, not even the editions available. Trust his uncle to be this stodgy and keep books from twenty-five years ago, Taka thinks. He reshelves the books, wondering where he might procure a copy of the latest Randy Dowager issue. In the city most likely, or maybe if he searched the servant quarters. He isn’t so rude as to barge into their rooms, though, so Taka heaves a weary sigh and flops onto the divan to wait.

He leaps up when he hears the knock on the door, striding over to pull it open with a flourish. “Wonderful!” he exclaims, delay notwithstanding, as the servant girl is revealed, a tray in her hands.

And then he looks behind her.

It’s Carver. Who is also holding a tray in his hands.

Taka’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead in surprise, and he sees the movement mirrored on Carver’s face. When he recovers he says, “This isn’t what I ordered. Send it back.”

“My lord?” the girl ventures, nervous. “Ser Carver wanted to speak to you.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Taka says, not moving.

“Might I enter, my lord?” the girl asks once the silence has solidified.

“It’s Taka. You may, but not him.” Taka eyes Carver.

“Oh, lay off,” Carver says, annoyed. “Let us in.”

Taka fixes a pleasant expression on his face, then stands aside so both the girl and Carver can enter.

The servant places her tray on a side table, then rearranges the room to accommodate two diners. Taka almost offers to help, but it’s likely he’ll just get in the way. Carver on the other hand remains as still as a statue by the door, watching the girl work.

“Can I do anything to help?” he asks as she drags a heavy chair across the high-pile rug. It probably weighs half of what she does.

“No ser,” she replies.

“She’s about done,” Taka adds. He moves his tray to the low oak table now occupying the center of the room, then flashes a smile at the girl. “Thank you for being prompt. I know it’s your duty to ask, but I doubt we’ll need anything else. If we do, I’ll ring for it.”

He escorts the servant out into the hall, the pleasant expression still plastered on, then returns and closes the door, turning to Carver.

Taka scowls immediately, all traces of charm gone. “Was the dining hall not cozy enough for you?”

Carver chooses to ignore Taka’s words. “I intercepted her on her way and followed her to the kitchen so I could get breakfast.”

“And then you followed her here.” Taka folds his arms over his chest. “To bring me breakfast.”

Carver’s eyes go stormy. “ _Lani_ brought you breakfast, _my lord._ I brought my own.” He walks to the table and sets his tray on it with a clink as if to prove a point.

“Don’t be a tit,” Taka warns him.

“I’m not the one being a tit,” Carver returns.

“Are you sore because you’ve got a sweater and tunic and I’m wearing something left over from new year’s?” Taka hangs the pot over the fire and takes a seat, cramming the bun into his mouth. Manners matter little in front of Carver, and Taka’s starving.

“No.” Carver settles his considerable self into the chair on the other side of the table and begins moving bowls off his tray. There’s an admirable efficiency about how they’ve been shoved together. “I got new boots. That’s better than whatever you’re wearing.” He gives up on using the chair with a snort of frustration, realizing he’s too high, and plops himself down on the rug.

Taka swallows, then tries the watered wine that’s included with his meal. It isn’t to his taste. He slides the eggs off the plate and into the bowl of rice, picks up his eating sticks, and pokes holes in the yolks. “I got new boots as well. And it’s silk.”

“Whatever.” Carver takes his spoon and loads his enormous bowl of rice porridge with sliced sweet sausage, salted flower pickles, roasted sailfish that’s been ground into powder, and bits of crunchy, deep-fried cruller. Carver won’t ever say it, but Taka knows Carver looks forward to eating in Ostwick. It’s a huge difference from what he grew up eating in Ferelden. For one thing, Ostwickian food has flavor. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“Whyever not?” Taka sniffs. “I look dashing. More than dashing. Regal.”

“It’s not you.”

“Are you sure you aren’t upset about your clothes? How is what I’m wearing not me?”

“It’s too much, and black isn’t your color.”

Carver’s right. Taka’s complexion enlivens with warmer colors, like camel. “And what color might you say is mine, pray tell?”

“Blue,” Carver replies, blowing on his porridge. “And silver. Or grey.”

Taka feels himself flatten. “Clever. Look at it this way. I’m embracing who I am. Whereas your clothes are more practical and you can take them with you when you leave.”

Carver pauses, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Are you still going on about that?”

“What made you think I’d stop?” Yes, Taka thinks sourly, traveling in close proximity to an unrequited love is exactly the kind of life he wants. Except he did choose it. How regretful.

“You’ve been stupid before but you’ve always come around.”

Taka snorts. “This is a new level of stupid for me. Don’t hold your breath.” He shovels food into his mouth as he waits for Carver to reply. “I’ve been stupid for a long time.”

“You aren’t stupid.”

“I beg to differ. If only you knew.”

They lapse into silence, finishing their meals. Taka rises when the water boils and makes tea for himself. Carver eats every last grain of rice, but doesn’t say anything when Taka reaches across the table and snags a piece of sausage for himself.

“So.” Taka removes the diffuser from the teapot. “Are we done with this exercise?”

“You aren’t stupid,” Carver repeats himself. “And it isn’t stupid to be in love.”

Taka lifts his eyes to Carver’s, and his mouth opens before his brain can react. Uncharacteristic of him, but at the same time, he’s used to being mostly unguarded with Carver. “Just stupid to be in love with someone who doesn’t love you back, and never will. There was a reason I never told you, but you forced it.”

These aren’t tears, Taka thinks angrily. Maker damn it.

For the second time - or is it the third? - Taka can’t read the emotion in Carver’s face and body. It’s completely the opposite of what Taka’s accustomed to; Carver reads more easily than a book, his every mood amplified in his demeanor. Yet Taka has no idea what he’s looking at.

“You weren’t going to tell me?” Carver asks, then clears his throat. “Never?”

Taka shakes his head. “What purpose would it serve if I did, Carver? We’re partners. You’ve said so; I’ve said so. Best not ruin a good thing.”

“I don’t think it’s ruined.”

Disbelief in his stare. “You don’t think it’s ruined.”

“It…” Carver glances away, then back. “It doesn’t have to be ruined.”

“So you want me to put this neatly into a box, then?” Taka lays his eating sticks across the top of his bowl, appetite gone. “We can ignore the bear in the room? You’ll pretend none of this ever happened and will act none the wiser?”

It takes several moments for Carver to formulate a response. “It isn’t...no, that’s not… It shouldn’t matter, Taka.”

Taka scoots himself backwards in his chair as far as possible, wounded.

“No! Maker, no, that’s not what I meant. Shit.” Carver puts his spoon down, his hand clenching. “I meant...shit, what do I mean? I mean regardless of how you feel, I don’t want you to leave.”

Taka finds his breaths coming faster and faster. “Carver, I _want_ to leave. I want you to leave me, or me to leave you, because -”

“You’re my friend,” Carver cuts in. He continues, hesitant, when Taka has no response. “I...don’t have many friends.”

At this, Taka has to stop from turning dramatically away. 

“Not much family either. I’ve got my sister, and some people in Kirkwall. And you.”

An upgrade, oh good. Taka can be a brother instead.

“I’ve never had a best friend, and maybe I never will, but I think you’re the closest I’ll ever get to one.” Carver clears his throat, then stares at the table. “I don’t want to lose…that. You.”

Taka’s chest aches in a way that’s growing more and more familiar. Whatever hardship he’s experiencing these days can’t compare to what Carver’s gone through, and sometimes Taka forgets on account of Carver’s taciturnity. Carver’s lost a father and a mother, a twin sister, an entire life, and each and every chance at happiness.

Taka recalls old conversations sitting by the fire, encamped in the harsh and lonely peaks of the Vimmarks. “I think my sister would have liked you,” Carver had said. “Bethany, not Imara. I thought I’d name a daughter after her, but the darkspawn got me first.” He’d paused, then swallowed. “Looks like they got both of us.”

“Carver, I…” Taka grips the armrests, the memory looming. His loss is a small, heaped mound next to Carver’s, and as much as it hurts him to stay, it would hurt more to know he’s caused Carver pain. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop being stupid. I didn’t realize… well, I’m still your partner. And a friend.”

As a friend Taka can keep his feelings in check. He’s got eight years of experience doing precisely that with no expectation of reciprocity. As a friend he can put Carver’s needs before his own, and accept that Carver wants him to stay. He won’t have to do it that long, anyway. One year. Maybe two.

“Nothing has to change if you don’t want it to,” Taka says quietly. “We can go back to the way things were before. Honestly, I’d be relieved to do that.”

Carver looks like he might say something else, but he nods instead.

The silence falls like the rain outside, heavy and stifling. Taka sits back in his chair, hoping he’s made the correct decision, knowing with a sinking stomach that he hasn’t. What he wants is for Carver to love him back, and not the normal he’s held onto for so long. What he wants is a yes or no, and not an in-between where Carver is indifferent.

An abyss presses on his ribcage from the inside out. Taka wonders if the emptiness is from heartache, or if it’s the hole where he’s supposed to dump his emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taka now has a small, two-song unrequited love playlist. Poor babe.
> 
> Anyway.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I should probably post the art of Taka I commissioned from Yukaryote last year. Linking because the image is fairly large! [Here's Taka in his warden blues.](http://68.media.tumblr.com/cac19c51158629dde37cdc3dc71176da/tumblr_o74ywzOap41qctz64o4_1280.jpg)
> 
>  
> 
> Details of his armor can be found [here.](http://more-aoe.tumblr.com/post/146738564123/yukaryote-progress-shots-of-more-aoes)

Carver folds his arms and watches Taka practice his shooting. The rain from yesterday has turned the ground into mudflats, and already Carver’s heard enough shouts from the barn to know that the horses are more than enjoying themselves in the slop. The way Taka’s standing though, it’s like he doesn’t notice. There’s mud on his boots and mud on his fine silk coat with the ridiculous horse embroidery, mud on his bow hand, and probably mud on his cheek from the muddy fletchings of the practice arrows shoved into the ground by his feet. 

It’s impossible to sneak up at Carver’s size; he assumes Taka knows he’s there. Taka ignores him, sending arrows methodically into practice targets that he’s set up over the range. Carver would be surprised if he completely missed any one of them. Taka’s form remains as perfect as it was when they first met, so flawless that an archery treatise would be jealous.

An arrow thuds into the second ring of the nearest target. Taka doesn’t react, pulling another arrow out of the ground, inhaling his draw, exhaling his release. Ten years together and Carver knows Taka’s rhythm as if it’s his own. Better than his own; Carver’s archery is passable at best. Taka’s made the correct adjustments. Carver can feel it.

Taka scores the bullseye. He takes up his next arrow. “What is it?” he asks, voice distant, eyes trained on a target further away. Shooting steadies him and helps him achieve a calm state, so Carver isn’t upset by the cool reception.

“I was going to -” The thwip and slap of Taka’s release interrupts him. The arrow buries itself in the center of the target. “- get ready to head out to town. But I think we should leave tomorrow morning.”

Taka glances sidelong at him. He’s done this so many times that Carver shouldn’t read anything into it, but Carver’s brain chooses that exact moment to recall when he’d first stumbled upon Taka on the range in Weisshaupt. That had to have been over fifteen years ago. Carver’s mind superimposes the memory over Taka’s form, and barring the clothing everything lines up the same way. There’s a pang in Carver’s chest when he sees the difference of years on Taka’s face.

One year, Taka had said. Maybe two. As long as he keeps those laughing eyes he’ll be fine.

Carver scowls and tells himself to quit thinking about the past because he can’t afford to look sad in front of his partner. Or concerned for that matter; Carver may not be the most observant person, but even he sees how unnerved Taka gets when he knows someone cares for him. Relationships to Taka are a means to an end, a check on the list of his goals. He’s callous and selfish that way, and manipulative too, but Carver has come to accept that about him because Taka has declared Carver hands-off when it comes to playing the Game. Taka hasn’t ever used him as a chess piece in all their years together, and Carver’s grateful for it.

Taka squints at the last target, easily a hundred paces or more away. Ever since Falla’s death Taka’s made it a point to shoot longer and longer distances, honing his accuracy to an inhuman degree. Carver hasn’t asked, but he’s pretty sure that Taka holds residual guilt for not being able to save her, no matter how impossible it would have been. That’s something else about Taka no one but Carver understands. For all of Taka’s cavalier attitude towards just about everything, Carver’s been with him long enough to know how deeply Taka internalizes his hurts, however few they are.

It’s useless to discuss it with him though, and it isn’t as if the two of them talk about feelings. Carver has only told Taka he landed the shot when it counted the most, a small comfort. Rith doesn’t blame Taka in the slightest, but Taka doesn’t really care what other people think.

Taka cants his head as he feels out the wind, shading his eyes as he observes the line of trees beyond the target. After a moment he nods to himself, fits an arrow to the string, and lifts his bow. He draws like the pour of water.

The arrow arcs over the distance and strikes the target with so much force that it falls over.

“I agree,” Taka says, turning to Carver. He’s got a neutral expression on, as if it’s nothing to shoot a bullseye from over a hundred paces with a wind going. There’s a wide smudge of mud on Taka’s cheek, as Carver’s predicted. It reminds him of the time bandits had gotten past his defense, rushing Taka and almost overwhelming him. He’d been lucky to have so much training in the use of his sidearm; one-handed swords were a Trevelyan specialty. Between the two of them the bandits were dispatched quickly, but not before Taka had taken a serious wound to the side. He’d looked at Carver, the cut on his cheek a streak of red like kaddis, battle rage ebbing from him with every drop of blood that pattered to the ground.

“That’s going to leave a scar,” Carver had said, trying not to panic. The fault was squarely his, and Taka might be angry at Carver’s slip.

“Won’t that be sexy?” Taka had replied, flashing a smile, his complexion taking on an ashen hue. He pulled his hand away to check, then hissed in pain. “Another story for me.”

Carver had caught him as he crumpled. “It’ll be ugly, is what.”

“Carver? Hello, Carver?”

He shakes himself, his mind rushing back to the present. “Yeah?”

“I asked if you wanted me to go with you.”

“Yeah. No, you didn’t want to see anyone in Ostwick, I won’t make you.”

“Going to the chantry after resupply, then?”

Sometimes Carver forgets how thoroughly Taka knows him, though he isn’t sure how he can forget such a thing. “Yeah.”

“Make it your last stop before you come back. Better to ask forgiveness for carnal delights than permission.” Taka smirks.

“I’m not!” Carver bristles more out of habit than anything. He isn’t planning on visiting his favorite shady drinking spot with the ladies who don’t mind a night of carousing. They’ve got to leave in the morning, and Carver, well, he sleeps heavy after…

“I’m not doing that.” Carver frowns.

Taka’s smirk stretches into a grin. “Not taking my advice, or not visiting your favorite shady drinking spot with ladies who like to dance?”

“Maker dammit, Taka.”

“That’s not a denial. You’ve got work in the morning, might I remind you. Though we can delay our departure until noon.” Carver doesn’t know how Taka makes his smile that much more bright and that much more annoying, but he does it. Carver almost grinds his teeth. “Takes you a while to get started after a strenuous night.”

“I’m not going to the Lock and Key, dammit!” He isn’t like Taka, whose idea of stress relief involves swordplay of the other sort. Carver can’t even entertain the idea of sex right now, not when Taka’s getting worse and pretending he isn’t. Carver’s willing to bet the sleep paralysis hasn’t disappeared. “Just the chantry.”

“Oh.” Taka shrugs, then looks down the range, his attention shifting visibly. “In that case, I’m definitely not going with you. Should leave soon, it’ll take a while. Take Bear.”

Carver leaves Taka to his practice since Taka has so obviously left Carver to his devices. Bear doesn’t even acknowledge Carver in the stables, standing unruffled while Carver looks for someone to help tack up. It makes him frown a little given how excited Hooty is to see Taka. She eyes him as he passes her stall, clearly disappointed that Taka is missing.

“Quit it,” Carver mutters, leading Bear past her.

He puts Bear into a brisk trot once they turn onto the road to Ostwick. He’s gotten a lot better at riding on the trip between Kirkwall and Ostwick, though he could do without the sore back, bottom, and legs, plus what feels like dozens of bruises. Even when limited to a walk most of the time, the first night in camp outside Kirkwall had been distinctly unpleasant, though sleep and Carver’s natural resilience had dulled much of the pain by the next morning. 

Two nights of easy sleep at the farm and good food means his body’s ready to tolerate a canter, so he hopes.

He’s wrong about the canter, and bounces off of Bear’s back like a sack of potatoes. It’s an apt comparison, he thinks as he picks himself up off the ground, jogging to where Bear’s standing docilely. Carver understands now that he isn’t the sack as a whole, but every single potato in the sack going in every possible direction at once.

“Thank you for not laughing at me,” he says, swinging back into the saddle, wincing. “Taka would be crying with it if he saw.”

Bear flicks an ear back as he begins walking.

“Well, look,” Carver says, rubbing his thigh where he landed. “I’d be laughing too if I saw me tumbling ass over teakettle off a horse. Keep this between the two of us, all right? But Taka’s right. I should probably ask him for more advice on how to ride.”

Bear plods on, unresponsive.

“That wouldn’t make any sense if we didn’t have horses, though. So we’d need horses. Taka likes Hooty a lot, and I think she likes him back.” Carver frowns, digging the heel of his hand into his leg. “He’d be happy to have a horse. Maker, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I suppose we’re going to keep you around. Put Taka in a better mood for a while.”

Once again, Bear does nothing.

“Bloody hell,” Carver grumbles. “Why am I talking to a horse when I’m going to talk to the revered mother?” She at least would talk back and give him advice on how to sort out his feelings. Carver kicks Bear into a trot, brooding his way down the road to Ostwick.

Were he around, Taka would tell him to quit brooding. But he isn’t, because Taka is avoiding his family and staying holed up at the farm. He hasn’t said as much, but Carver figures that’s the most likely explanation. He could ask, and Taka might answer, but he’d talk a lot without saying much of anything at all, and by the time he’d get to the meat of it Carver would be out of patience. If it were important Taka would tell him.

Or would he? Taka loves him, but that apparently isn’t important enough to warrant mention.

It’s weird. Everything is weird. Except for Taka being in love with him; that surprisingly doesn’t bother Carver one bit. Everything else though, the strained silences, the sleep issues, Taka’s disappearing memories - Maker’s balls, the memories. Taka isn’t the forgetful sort, has never been, and him not remembering the time with the drowned hurlock…

_“He’s too wet to burn,” Carver said, pouring some accelerant onto the fire as Taka shucked his waterlogged clothing, the dirt around his feet turning to mud. “In front of the pyre, Taka? Really?”_

_“Are you going to be a sweetheart and build a second fire for me?” Taka shot him a lopsided grin before he grabbed the bottom hem of his undershirt, hauling it over his head in one rippling, graceful movement that showed off every lean, taut inch of him from hipbones to shoulders. “Oh, you aren’t? Then I’ll dry off in front of the only fire available. I didn’t tell you to fight Hurley on the dock, and I certainly didn’t tell you to punch him into the lake to see if he could swim.”_

_“But it’s useful information,” Carver protested. “Now we know the darkspawn can’t swim.”_

_“They can’t even build boats, why would you think they could swim?” Taka frowned, unlacing his breeches, wiggling out of the soaked leather with difficulty, his skin tightening into gooseflesh under the crisp breeze._

_“I had to be sure.” Then, because Taka’s smalls had come off as well and Carver couldn’t resist, “That’s mighty impressive, Trevelyan. I can see why you’re popular with women. It must be your winning personality.”_

_“The lake was freezing!” Taka snapped, but he’d laughed all the same. “Ask Hurley, he was in it too.”_

_“Darkspawn don’t get shrinkage!” Carver said, laughing. “And he’s dead.”_

_“And you know for a fact how, exactly? You’re the one who’s interested in experimentation today. Why don’t you strip him and find out?”_

_“How about you instead?” Carver grinned. “You’re the one who’s willing to try anything. You’ve already got your clothes off.”_

_Taka attempted to glare at him, but the sight of him starkers in front of a roaring fire piled on with darkspawn corpses was too much. Carver cackled until he fell over._

“It’s a whole damn series,” Carver murmurs to himself. “Taka wanted to put it in a broadsheet. Ask Hurley, the weekly Grey Warden advice column.”

Maker, now he’s sad and everything is still weird and the Taint will steal Taka away piece by piece until he’s too far gone to recognize himself, and Carver will shepherd him down to the Deep Roads, except maybe he won’t because Taka wants to separate, but maybe he will because Taka’s agreed to let things be normal again. And maybe Carver will do it anyway because that’s what partners and friends do, they support each other and are loyal to each other even if Taka loves him and Carver doesn’t love him back, which may or may not be true. And that’s what Carver’s been trying to figure out ever since he got confirmation and fuck, he just doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. He would like to know because he’d like to give Taka an answer of some sort, even if it’s delayed, but he doesn’t know.

“Hurley,” Carver says, miserable, “I could use some advice.”

Carver lands in Ostwick around lunchtime. He goes straight to the bazaar, passing under lines strung thickly with red flags, decorations left over from the new year. For a while he puts aside his thoughts, purchasing essentials as he munches on skewers of roasted meat marinated in a savory-sweet sauce, followed by skewers of fried fish balls, which are then followed by sticky rice balls filled with black sesame paste. He passes by stalls where the pungent sting of fermentation fills the air. Years ago he would have hurried on his way, but these days he saunters by unaffected. He’s gotten used to the food and the haggling in the bazaar, in no small part thanks to Taka, who’s shown Carver time and again how to conduct himself.

His shopping finished, Carver wends his way to Taka’s favorite noodle stand, which after rigorous testing between the two of them has retained its place at the top. He greets the master chef with a wave, orders something delicious, and plops down at one of the tables to wait. The wicker stool groans and strains under him.

“Gonna break my chair,” the chef says, walking Carver’s bowl over. “You’re gonna owe me.”

Carver’s mouth waters at the sight and smell of hand-pulled noodles in a dark, savory soup, reddish-orange beads of chili oil floating over the top. Cubes of braised beef and thick-stemmed leafy greens jut up from the surface. He grabs a pair of eating sticks. Taka’s taught him how to use them as well, and it wouldn’t be boasting to say Carver has just as much skill in handling them. 

“The stool is holding up, but once I’m done eating this it might not.”

The chef laughs. “Where’s your friend?”

“Busy. He couldn’t come.” Carver picks up a flat-bottomed spoon and digs in, hauling up a thick bunch of noodles, settling them partially in the spoon as he blows heat and steam away.

“Really? That’s too bad. What’s he busy with? Is he going to stop by later? I haven’t seen you boys in months.”

Carver chooses not to answer with his mouth full. He chews and swallows, then wipes his lips. His mother would be proud. “He’s training outside the city. I don’t think he’ll make it.”

“Tell him I said hello, then.” The chef glances up; a new customer waits up front. “I’d better get back to it.”

Carver nods, his tongue slightly aflame from the oil, and devours the contents of his bowl without further interruption. When he’s done he hands money to the chef and bids him farewell, then unties Bear from the post and orients himself towards the tall spire of the Ostwick chantry.

He thinks about what he might say as he walks. Carver’s no good at easing into chatter the way Taka does, can’t come up with an opening line slick enough and effortless enough to spark conversation. “I have a problem,” he mutters. “No, that won’t work.”

Carver tries again. “I have an issue with my friend.” That makes it sound like Taka is less important than he is. “My good friend,” Carver amends himself. “My best friend.” He pets Bear, smoothing a hand down the horse’s forehead. “He’s...sick. Yeah, I’ll say he’s sick.”

His steps slow on the approach to the chantry stairs, his feet becoming recalcitrant. Carver stops and stares through the open door at the altar to Andraste just visible from the street, so still he might as well be a statue. The painting of Andraste’s face gives no comfort. The warmth of the candlelight burning does not beckon. The faint wisps of incense wafting out smell acrid and sour instead of sweet and soothing.

It’s useless, he concludes. Neither the chantry sisters nor the revered mother have any knowledge about Blight sickness, and Carver doubts they’d be able to help him muddle through his feelings any better than he already has. They can’t tell him whether or not he loves Taka, not without knowing the history. They can’t tell him if the friendship and affection he feels can translate to something deeper, or even if it should. Maker, most of them aren’t even married, so what would they know?

“Good talk,” Carver says, turning away, going home. He can make it back to Taka before sundown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the comments - you really keep me going, and whether you realize it or not, you've kept this fic alive. I love you guys.


	8. Chapter 8

They depart for Markham the next morning under clear skies and strong sunshine. It’s a later start than Carver prefers, but Taka has demanded Ostwickian breakfast, and Carver doesn’t hate food. He can’t complain at the bounty of baked buns, or the piles of paper-thin savory crepes fried with eggs - funny how fast those disappear - or the mugs of creamy, fresh bean milk, lightly sugared. There are sticky rice patties filled with peanut paste and rolled in sesame seeds before being deep fried, and soft steamed bread folded around sliced duck breast and julienned scallions. There is of course the rice porridge, and citrus fruits, and turnip cakes sautéed to a delicious golden brown.

The late start, Carver thinks, might have a little to do with how much he’s eaten.

Taka’s his usual cheerful self as they load up, slinging jokes back and forth with the servants. Taka may dislike his blood relations except for Aeveth, but he returns to the farm because the long-term staff are the family he’s picked for himself. Take Niane, for example, an older woman in her sixties who Taka affectionately refers to as his auntie. She’s been in service to the Trevelyans since he was a child.

“Take more of these,” she tells him, handing over a comically oversized cloth-wrapped bundle. “Don’t share them with Carver.”

“Auntie!” Taka laughs, turning from prepping Hooty’s saddlebags so he can receive his gift. He pretends to stagger and almost fall. “What’s in here, bricks? You’ll break my horse’s legs!”

“You’re getting too skinny!” she scolds him in return, smacking him on the shoulder. “You need to eat more. I put rice balls in there for you.” Niane plants her hands on her hips, drawing herself up to her full height of almost-as-tall-as-Taka. She’s intimidating standing straight-backed with that iron-streaked hair pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck, but that disappears when she smiles and the stern lines around her mouth melt away into dimples.

“Rice balls? Carver loves balls. They’re his _favorite._ ” Taka cracks up at his own joke as Carver purses his lips, trying to look unamused. “He’ll wind up stealing them from me.”

Carver imagines Niane brandishing a rolling pin at him as she says, “He better not. He’s got his own pack.”

It’s true he has his own, already tied onto Bear’s saddle. It’s similarly heavy. “You gave me rice balls too, Niane?”

“No!” she barks at him, admonishing. “Sweet potatoes.”

“What?!” Carver exclaims, offended at the blatant favoritism. Niane loves Taka like he’s one of her own. Considering she has no children, Taka might as well be. He’d much prefer her to be his mother, and treats her more like one than his real mother.

Taka falls into more laughter.

“Don’t be ungrateful!” Niane turns her glare on Carver so hard it punches him in the face.

“Yes, ma’am,” Carver mumbles, dropping his eyes to the ground. He could easily forage on the road to Markham; the trip is short, only two days on horseback, and he’s just resupplied. The sweet potatoes, then, are likely a gag gift. Pranking runs rampant around here, he thinks glumly. Unsurprising.

“They’re good for you!” Niane continues, pointing at him. “Hearty. You need hearty.”

“As if he isn’t hearty enough!” Taka scoffs.

“I like the rice balls too,” Carver says. He really does. The balls are really more cylindrical than spherical, and filled with dried, ground fish or pork, chopped up fried dough, and pickled vegetables. He more than likes them. Carver loves them, and has bought into Ostwick food culture hook, line, and sinker.

Niane heaps insult upon injury, wagging her finger. “You’ll need to ask Taka if he’s going to share.”

“You just told me not to!” Taka says, singsong. “I won’t. I’m a _good_ child. I listen to my auntie.”

His words are so obviously untrue that Carver has to grin. The rest of the staff within earshot chuckles. 

“You’re a little shit,” Niane throws back at Taka. Carver snorts his agreement, noting how Taka does nothing to naysay her. “You’ll do whatever you want, as you always have. As anyone in this family always has.”

“Don’t remind me,” Taka says with a smile. “I’m surprised and yet not that I didn’t get a colder reception upon arrival. I’m sure my uncle sent you a directive.”

“Did he?” Niane shrugs, then reaches up to her hair to pat down nonexistent flyaways. “Some of the younger ones here don’t read so well. I’ve received nothing. As far as I know, you’re to be given the same treatment as any other Trevelyan staying here.”

“And you called _me_ the little shit, auntie?” Taka scoops Niane into his arms for a rare, tight hug. Taka doesn’t engage in physical affection unless he has to, but he loves his aunt enough to get over his reservations. The only other person Carver has seen Taka hug is Aeveth. “I love you. By the way, I’m the best and you know it.”

Niane rolls her eyes but returns the hug. “I love you, best or worst. Now be off.”

“I bet I could get Bear to jostle the food out of you if we trot,” Taka muses once they’ve left the farm, turning north.

“Please don’t,” Carver replies. “This is all your fault anyway. You wanted the breakfast.”

“What was that? A strange way to say thank you, I think. I know you don’t do words well, Carver.” Taka grins at him openly. 

Carver knows Taka’s just trying to get a rise out of him, and the normal behavior coupled with his actions in the morning makes him feel a bit better. “Good to see you smiling,” he says.

“How can I not?” Taka looks up into the sky and inhales gustily. “It’s a beautiful winter day, I’ve had my favorite breakfast, I slept a lot and well, and I’m on the road with my horse under me and a friend at my side. Nothing to complain about.”

“My horse?” Carver tilts his head. “She’s yours, is she?”

Taka waves him off. “You know what I meant. Hooty isn’t mine, and I don’t plan on purchasing her.”

“You said ‘my horse.’ Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.”

“Yeah, to give her back.”

“I’m getting a dog,” Carver says.

“You are not,” Taka responds immediately.

“You’re lying to yourself if you think you’re giving up that horse.” Friends, Taka said. Carver goes for it. “She knows it, you know it, I know it. As your friend I think you should keep Hooty. And I get a dog.”

Taka looks at him, and Carver shivers at the sudden chill that sweeps across Taka’s eyes. He’s seen that same thing hundreds of times when Taka’s been negotiating with others or playing the Game, seen that same polite, shallow affability with nothing but cold calculation behind it. He hadn’t counted on Taka turning it on him, ever. 

As suddenly as it’s appeared, it disappears. Taka eases back into being friendly and amicable so quickly that Carver questions whether he saw the wall go up. Carver swallows, uncomfortable. Taka’s silent treatment on the way to Ostwick had been one thing. Being played, however, is another. Carver wonders whether Taka is putting distance between them, or if he’s setting Carver up for something.

Awkward.

“You’re just trying to wheedle a dog out of me. Don’t think I can’t see through you, Carver Hawke.”

Carver snorts. “Don’t think I can’t see through _you,_ Takaleth Trevelyan. You’re going to keep the horse. If you get a horse then I get a dog. That’s the deal.”

“Friend,” Taka says. “Buddy. Pal. I never agreed to that, and I don’t do dogs. Get one on your own time. I don’t care if it’s a Grey Warden dog. No dogs allowed. And I’m not keeping the horse.”

Hooty tosses her head as if she’s insulted.

Carver frowns. “You’re going to hurt her feelings. I think she’s already decided to keep you.”

“Ah yes, the master of horseflesh himself is now telling me how horses feel.” Taka laughs softly. “It doesn’t matter how either of us feel. It’s a matter of necessity, and I don’t need a horse, nor attachments. This life isn’t for attachments. Wasn’t ever for attachments.”

Carver blinks, wondering if Taka’s pivoted and switched who he’s talking about. “If you don’t take her you might come to regret it.”

“And what might we do with one horse and one dog, Carver?” Taka sticks a hand on a hip and turns his head to glare. “Hooty is meant for riding, not hauling our things around. She’s too well-bred for that kind of work.”

“I’ll get a horse too,” Carver says. “The dog’s gonna be Turnip. I’ll name the horse…” He thinks for a moment or two, casting about in his head until he seizes on the perfect name. “Radish.”

Taka groans.

“Then we can have two horses and a dog. There we go, problem solved.”

“I suppose we shall also have a homestead, and a house with a fence, and neighbors who bring jam when they’ve too much fruit. We’ll save the world, find a place for ourselves, and live happily ever after.” Taka laughs, but to Carver it tastes bitter. “I know you’re idealistic, but this is too much. What a joke. What a fucking joke.”

Carver stays silent, nursing his wounds, avoiding thinking about what it might be like to have a life interrupted only by the peaceful arrival of death from old age. Neither he nor Taka deserve their fates. Eventually he says, “You didn’t have to take it as far as you did. I didn’t mean we should settle down together. Horses would help us travel faster. The dog…” He trails off when he sees the set of Taka’s jaw, the hardness of his dark brown eyes.

“I know that’s what you would have wanted if you didn’t have this. A home of your own and someone to keep you company at night, maybe a few children. You could be a good father.” Taka sighs and shakes his head. “Some wardens do have families and lives outside of darkspawn hunting. Maybe you should put more effort into tracking down that elf woman you love, and build that homestead for her.”

“I don’t love her, I told you already,” Carver replies immediately. “And she doesn’t love me. I was just a pup with a crush then. I haven’t seen Merrill in years and nothing ever happened.” Not like Carver hadn’t wished for it, but that was before he met Taka, and before he took responsibility into his blood.

“Have you told me?”

Carver tries to keep the irritation out of his voice, but he can’t. “I have.”

“Well.” Taka clicks to himself. “It isn’t too late to settle down.”

“She’s Dalish, she’d never settle, and again, I don’t love her. I’ve said it a million times.”

Taka’s unreadable again. “You look for her every time we visit Kirkwall.”

“Maker,” Carver says, exasperated. “I visit everyone else too. I’m allowed to have friends, you know.”

Taka’s demeanor turns inward. Carver almost tells him to stop shutting him out, but it’s already done. 

“Yes,” Taka says quietly. “I know. You should have more. You should be happy.” 

And then the conversation is over.

*** *** ***

They reach Markham in good time, finding a small inn on the outskirts of the city to stay the night. Taka takes the horses to the stable while Carver procures rooms. There are enough vacancies that he and Taka can each have their own. Carver goes ahead and pays for them, then pays more for rooms with adjoining washrooms. It isn’t as if he’s hurting for money these days, and Imara certainly doesn’t need anything from him, lording around the estate as she does.

That’s never made him comfortable, the excess. Though Imara doesn’t live excessively. That’s more like Taka’s family. It’s hard to break the ingrained habits of austerity, though Carver thinks his sister’s broken enough of them. He on the other hand likes things to be simple and sure, comforting and solid and tangible. Taka’s right about Carver and what he might have done after his fighting days were over. A farm or homestead wouldn’t be that bad, though it’s been years since he’s done any of that work. Nothing too big, just enough to put in a good day. Maybe an apprentice or something so he can teach someone how to swing a sword the way he does.

And a dog. Definitely a dog. Two dogs. Taka would lose it if Carver got two dogs.

“Bloody Maker,” Carver mutters. He’s got no business daydreaming about something that’ll never happen. Carver stomps to the bar for ale, then sits at a table to wait for Taka.

He arrives after Carver’s food does, sitting down without preamble, taking a long pull from his mug. “Ugh,” Taka says, grimacing, putting a fist to his chest to tap up a burp. He does it quietly, unlike Carver, who hasn’t managed to get past his boyish delight at how he can shake the rafters. “You’ve got to get better taste, Carver.”

“You’re still drinking it,” Carver replies, lifting his own mug.

“I saw what the horses had and decided I wanted none of it. We’re downriver from the city.” Taka glares at his drink. “If the ale is this bad, the wine is probably just vinegar with some beet juice in it. Mark this down on the list of places we won’t go to again.”

There’s no list. Carver nods anyway. “Girls are pretty at least.”

Taka gives him a frankly skeptical look. “I wasn’t even looking.”

Neither was he, honestly. “You’re always looking.”

“Not really.”

“All right, the boys are pretty.”

“One of them is.” Taka smirks, biting his lip, his eyes roving up and down Carver’s body.

Heat springs into Carver’s cheeks. Andraste’s ass, he’s almost 39 and he’s blushing like a maiden. Taka’s flirted with him a million times, but Carver’s thought it harmless until now because Taka flirts with anything that moves. 

“Thought you weren’t looking,” Carver mutters, unable for a moment to meet Taka’s gaze. So much for having things continue as normal. Before, Carver would have shrugged it off.

“I wasn’t,” Taka continues blandly, then grins again. “I meant myself. Cheers to me.”

Moment over. Carver makes a disgusted noise. “Do you hear yourself ever?”

Taka’s widening smile gives Carver all the answer he needs. The man has no shame. “You’d tumble yourself in bed if it were possible, wouldn’t you?” Carver means it as a rhetorical question.

“Carver, Carver, Carver,” Taka says with a dramatic sigh. “Of course I would. What makes you think I haven’t? But it’s always more fun with someone else.”

Carver wrenches his thoughts away from anything remotely related to Taka being in bed with himself. He straightens instead, glancing over Taka’s shoulder at the patron entering the common room, and says, “Excellent! A bard.”

Taka whips himself around to look at the door, then whips himself back, eyes narrowed at Carver, who’s snickering. “Not funny.”

It’s hilarious. “You knowwww…” Carver begins.

“Don’t.”

Carver widens his eyes and stretches a fake, cheesy grin over his face as he launches into the song. “...Aaaaandraste’s old mabari -”

“Carver, don’t do it -”

“- he don’t show up in the Chant -”

“No!”

“- and if you ask those holy sisters they’ll all say Andraste can’t -”

“Nooooooooooo,” Taka moans, covering his face.

“- have had some big old smelly war dog -”

“Carver, _please!”_

“- but all Ferelden knows it right!” Carver starts slapping the table to keep the beat, making his fork rattle.

“I cannot be seen with you anywhere! Shut up!”

“Our sweet Lady needed someone -”

“Shut up, shut up, shut _up,_ I’m not even taking anyone to bed, why would you do this?”

“- who would warm her feet at night!” Carver laughs heartily at the expression on Taka’s face. “It’s my favorite song, Taka! You wouldn’t keep me from my favorite song, would you?”

“Would that I could clamp your mouth shut right now.” Taka folds his arms and scowls.

Clearing his throat, Carver swoops up to the correct note and continues singing. “And there’s Andraste’s mabari by the Holy Prophet’s side…”

“Fuck you, Hawke!”

Carver chortles for too long to continue singing, thinking of all the times he’s asked for the song after Taka’s gone upstairs with a conquest. Taka moves fast, so Carver usually gives him about fifteen minutes before sidling up to the musicians, buying them a round, and enthusiastically singing every verse of “Andraste’s Mabari,” complete with stomping and clapping and encouraging the entire common room to join in.

Taka finishes his drink, his eyes wandering over to Carver’s plate. “Don’t you dare,” Carver says, brandishing his fork. “You wait for your own.”

“I’d let you eat off my plate,” Taka says.

“You’re a damned liar,” Carver replies. The last time Carver tried to steal something off Taka’s plate he almost got stabbed. “Just wait for yours to get here. Won’t be long.”

“I don’t have the patience for it. And you deserve it after that song.” Taka reaches out lightning quick and spears a piece of meat off Carver’s plate. It’s in his mouth and being chewed before Carver can mount a protest. “Tell you what. I’m going to go up to wash seeing as I can smell myself, and by the time I come back my food will be waiting for me. Which room is ours?”

Carver hands over a key. “You’ve got your own this time. With a bath.”

Taka’s brows shoot up his forehead; after a second he purses his lips and nods as if impressed. “Splurging, are we?”

Carver shrugs. “Why not? We’ve got another five days on the road. We might as well be comfortable.”

“Something different? I’ll enjoy the privacy at the very least.” Taka takes the key, then gets up from the table. “I’ll return soon.”

Carver watches him go up the stairs before turning his attention to his food. He thinks as he eats, ignoring the comings and goings of the patrons in the common room. It’s true that he and Taka often share one room with two beds; sometimes there’s only one bed, and one of them will take the floor, though there have been plenty of occasions when they’ve shared the bed out of sheer exhaustion.

He chews morosely, washing his dinner down with the ale which, as Taka has said, is fairly terrible. No, there are two rooms because Carver doesn’t think he can handle being with Taka tonight. His feelings are too muddled still, and there have been enough strained conversations in the last days that Carver’s deemed it safer to be apart.

Though, he thinks, having two rooms could also be read as Carver wanting nothing to do with Taka, and at that he winces.

Carver finishes his dinner and a second mug of ale before he decides Taka’s taking too long. With a sigh he picks up Taka’s plate and a fork and trudges up the stairs towards Taka’s room. “Taka?” he calls, knocking.

There’s no answer. “Taka?” Carver calls again, knocking louder.

A sharp moan, muffled by the wall, comes from the next room over. Carver looks up at the ceiling, shaking his head. “That’d better not be you,” he says under his breath, right as the person moans again. It’s a man, and the timbre of his voice sounds suspiciously like Taka’s. He’s moved even faster than usual if they’re at that stage already.

Carver scowls, pounding his fist against Taka’s door, trying the latch. It’s unlocked. Naturally. “Taka, I swear by Maferath’s wrinkly ballsack that if that’s you over there -” 

Another moan, increasing in volume. Enough is enough. Carver barges into the room.

Only to find Taka stepping out of the washroom with a towel slung precariously around his hips, his hair damp, rogue droplets of water clinging to golden-brown skin and that long, lean torso. Taka blinks at Carver, eyes round with surprise. Carver stares back, wordless.

Taka recovers first, as expected. He raises his eyebrows, and when he lifts his hands to his hips Carver’s eyes are drawn involuntarily to the muscles of his stomach. “That’s the second time you’ve brought me food. Keep doing that, Carver, and I’m going to get the wrong idea.”

“I thought…” Carver closes the door behind him and sets Taka’s plate down on the nearest available flat surface. “You were taking too long, and…”

Two moans this time, rising in pitch and intensity. A smile flits over Taka’s face before his demeanor shifts into something more intense.

“Thought I was having fun without you?” Oh Maker, Taka practically prowls the few steps it takes to reach his food. Carver isn’t sure why he hasn’t noticed before how the man can move. Or maybe he has, and has been ignoring it.

“I didn’t want you to be hungry.” It sounds stupid when he says it. Carver kicks himself for being stupid.

Taka says nothing, trying a bite of his food, then retying his towel more securely. They listen to the couple next door climax performatively. It’s surreal, staring at Taka just an armspan away, mostly naked, as two people have sex loudly enough to ward off the heaviness of the silence. Carver should have known it wasn’t Taka, he thinks. Taka isn’t obscenely loud. Nothing about Taka is obscene except his vanity.

“Oh Maker!” the woman wails, and Taka claps his hand to his mouth, trapping his snort behind clamped lips.

Carver rubs his forehead, but then the woman wails again and Carver has to close his eyes, locking his jaw, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

“Do you think -” Taka whispers, but no, it’s not over. He swears as he falls back into laughter, scurrying to the bed to grab a pillow. Carver lacks whatever empathy or misgiving Taka has, and laughs openly.

“Sweet Andraste,” Taka says once the giggles have passed and the room has quieted. He drops the pillow back onto the bed and fixes his towel again. “That was quality entertainment for the night. I can’t believe you thought that was me. You should know better.”

He’s right; Carver does know better. “That was the worst faking I’ve heard in a while.”

Taka cracks up again, doubling over. Miraculously, his towel stays on. “You would know!” he crows, guffawing. “Andraste have mercy, you would know!”

“Fuck you, Trevelyan!” Carver growls, but there’s no heat in it. “Like no one has ever faked it for you.”

Taka sighs and puts a hand on his stomach. His muscles ripple as he exhales into his calm. “I highly doubt it. Remember my rules? I don’t take anyone less than a hundred percent sure. Willing partners tend not to fake.”

“How do you know you didn’t disappoint them partway through? You don’t.”

“You’re right,” Taka says, then shrugs. “I don’t. But there’s usually laughter and fun, and that you can’t fake.” He ducks into the washroom, emerging with a shirt. Taka makes a face as he sniffs it. “Carver, toss me my pack, would you?”

Carver does one better and fishes out a clean shirt, handing it over without letting his eyes stray too far.

“All right,” Taka says. “Out with you. I need to get dressed. And thank you for bringing up my dinner.”

“You’re welcome,” Carver replies. It feels weird to say, as if he hasn’t used those words in a long time. Probably because he hasn’t. He reaches for the door, reluctant.

“You can leave at any time,” Taka prods him. “Unless you want to say something?”

“Actually I do,” Carver blurts out. “Are we, um… are we all right? The two of us.”

Carver knows immediately that he’s hurt Taka by the slight flinch and subsequent split second of blankness in his eyes. It clears before Carver finishes drawing breath. Taka’s control is nigh absolute. 

“Yeah,” Taka says. “We’re fine.”

“Because, um…” The words rush out of him. “I just want to make sure you’re all right. That we’re all right.”

Taka’s hands tighten on his shirt until his knuckles match the exact hue of it. His silence drags at the time until it crawls to a halt. When Taka finally speaks he does it softly, but it cuts nonetheless. “How dare you, Carver? How can you ask me that?”

He’s so bad with all of this: the words, feelings, expressing his emotions. Carver’s got such a tangle of them in his chest, but he doesn’t know how to talk about them the way Taka does. Though truly, Taka doesn’t talk about his emotions either. “I just want to be sure you’re all right, that you can work with what we agreed on. We’ve been arguing, and it’s as if one moment we’re fine and the next you’re pushing me away.”

“How can you even -” Taka flings his shirt down on the bed, angry. “Maker, I’m trying, all right? I’m trying. I thought I could get through it, but it’s - I can’t. I thought that because I - for so long, I -”

He halts mid-sentence, clicking his teeth shut over his words, shaking his head as he looks to a corner of the room, his fingers digging into the skin over his hipbones. “This is why I never wanted to tell you, Carver! Because it would change everything. Because I was afraid this might happen, that you wouldn’t or couldn’t...that you don’t - Maker, I can’t even say it. Fuck you, Carver.” 

Taka sucks down a breath, clenching his jaw. “Fuck you! And you want to know if we’re still fine? How _dare._ ”

Carver can’t tell if he’s in distress because of his own feelings, or if he’s in distress because Taka’s in distress. In a way it’s one and the same. “I’m sorry,” he says, and that’s the only thing he can offer up. He shouldn’t have opened his mouth, he shouldn’t have broached the topic. Carver wants to _go_ to him, hold him as if his hands can put things back together, as if he can fix it. But he can’t. “I’m sorry. Taka, I’m sorry.”

Taka makes a fist, takes two breaths, then relaxes his hand. “I’m sorry too. You know this isn’t sustainable, right? I’m dying slowly, and there’s only one way out of it.”

The Taint. Carver shudders inwardly. “You said your Calling - that you had a year or two.”

Taka shakes his head again, then laughs to himself. “It’s _you,_ Carver.”

The pain in Taka’s eyes stabs Carver straight through. “What -”

“You’re so dense sometimes. It’s you. It’s you! Not knowing one way or the other how you feel, having to perform all the same tasks, act the same way, knowing you know, that’s what’s killing me. I thought I could do it, but it turns out I can’t.” Taka pauses to press his hand over his eyes, his shoulders slumping. “It isn’t the Taint. Maker, at this point I’m glad. Let me finish this with dignity. Don’t bring this up again, all right? We can pretend none of this happened. Better that way.”

Carver’s dizzy, and he needs to sit down. But that means he has to move closer to Taka, and if he does, it puts Taka that much more on the defensive. So he stays where he is. He waits until their eyes connect before asking, “What do _you_ want, Taka?”

“In general or from you?”

“From me.”

“Nothing.” Not even a hesitation.

That sends a surge of emotion strong enough to steal his breath. Taka’s such a facile liar, but knowing doesn’t lessen the pain crackling through his chest. “Be honest.”

“Look what that got me the last time.” Taka snorts. “Can’t get worse though, can it? I want an answer from you on whether you feel the same. Yes or no. That’s it.”

“I’ve been trying to figure it out,” Carver says, low. “I’ve thought about it, I’ve visited the chantry. It didn’t help.”

“Obviously.”

Taka’s such a shit. Those snide remarks drive Carver insane. “I don’t want to give you an answer that I can’t stand behind one way or another. I don’t want to say yes and have that not be true.”

“And what about no?”

Carver searches for the words. “I don’t...I don’t want to say no either in case that’s not true. I don’t know, Taka. I just…” He just doesn’t want Taka to leave. “...need more time.”

“You’ve got until we reach Ansburg,” Taka says curtly, crossing his arms. “I can’t keep this going longer than that. I can’t take it.”

That’s a scant five days at most. Carver shoves away the rising panic, says the first thing that comes to mind. “All right. I’ll give you an answer by then.”

“Or before. No need to draw this out.”

“What happens if I say no, Taka?” Carver asks because he knows what happens if he says yes: Taka stays, and they end things the way they should. The right way. For a second he’s tempted to say it in order to guarantee Taka’s partnership. It would be a huge hassle to build that amount of trust with someone new.

The corner of Taka’s mouth quirks. “Then we separate, and I bid you farewell at Ansburg as a brother and comrade.”

“The Deep Roads -”

“You’ll be on assignment.”

Cold, so cold. Carver’s unused to it being turned on him. “I told you I’d go with you.”

Taka shrugs. “Things change. You’ll go in your own time.”

That isn’t exactly what Carver wants to hear. “I gave you my word.”

“Words can be broken, and loyalty can fade.”

But not Taka’s loyalty, nor Carver’s. In that realm, Taka is Carver’s equal. After everything Taka’s family has done he remains loyal to them, and Carver carries the utmost respect for that tough choice. 

“And if I say yes?” Carver throws it down like a challenge.

Taka’s eyes acquire a liquid sheen. “Get out of my room so I can get dressed and eat.”

Carver waits for a further answer, and receives none. Slowly he turns, opening the door, slipping out, shutting it behind him. He stands in the hallway, head bowed, his heart pounding erratically, sweat and goosebumps breaking out over his skin.

Taka’s voice is so faint that Carver thinks he might be hallucinating. It’s just two words, but they freeze Carver to the spot, dread filling him from his feet to his throat.

“You won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, have a giant chapter, my apologies. Also flagrant 1 for overuse of italics.
> 
> Comments are love! Yelling at either Taka or Carver is also accepted.


	9. Chapter 9

Taka sleeps in fragments, his night shattered over and over by nightmare after nightmare. The dawn brings with it little relief, but Taka tries for optimistic, telling himself to appreciate his first morning in two weeks without an attack of paralysis. He lays in bed as the light strengthens, nose wrinkling at the smell of his own sweat on the sheets, unable to seek peaceful rest.

He rises, cleans himself up, gets dressed, packs his rucksack. He leaves his room tidy and goes downstairs past a dormant common room and a kitchen recently roused, then outside to the stables where he takes a generous armful of fresh straw to put in Hooty’s stall. The mare whuffs when she scents him, lifting her head as Taka closes the stall door. Taka drops his pack and then himself onto the floor.

He puts his back to the wall, spending a few minutes petting Hooty. “Good to see you lying down,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing her blaze. “Didn’t think they’d have shavings this deep at a place like this. Did you sleep well, girl? I apologize for disturbing you.”

Hooty lips his arm. Taka rubs her nose, smiling when Hooty lowers her head to Taka’s lap. He leans down, brushing aside her forelock so he can kiss her, then lets his head fall against the wall. Taka sighs, closing his eyes.

That’s how Carver finds him, dozing in Hooty’s stall as if it’s more comfortable than a bed. Taka wakes with a start at Carver’s voice and the motion of Hooty coming alert, wincing when he realizes he has a crick in his neck. He gets to his feet with a groan; Hooty heaves herself up as well, shaking off detritus from her coat.

“Why are you in here, Taka?”

Taka yawns before he answers. “Thought I’d beat you to the early start.”

Carver gives him silence for a moment. “Come in and get breakfast.”

Taka returns the silence, busying himself with feeding and watering Hooty and Bear even though he doesn’t have to, allowing Carver to follow him around as if invisibly tethered. “Are you going to eat now?” Carver asks when Taka finishes. “I’m starving.”

“Yeah.” Taka is hungry but doesn’t want to eat. He eats out of a sense of practicality though, enough to blunt the edge in his stomach. They leave shortly afterwards.

The day goes by without much communication, for which Taka is glad, not having to shoulder the burden of chatter. That night Taka takes first watch, and all is peaceful. After he rouses Carver for his watch Taka beds down by Hooty again. Night passes into day, and Taka wakes gratefully without issue. If Carver notices, he says nothing.

Later in the morning Carver asks him how to sit a canter. Taka, after some consideration, deems things safe enough to engage with him again. Besides, when he’s teaching there’s little opportunity for the kind of talk that will lead to serious argument. Carver’s a good student overall, but he can get mouthy and argumentative.

“Are you sure you want to learn this?” Taka asks.

Carver nods. “I don’t want to fall off if we have to go faster.”

He has a point, though Taka doesn’t know why he’s bothering. Once they reach Ansburg the horses will be sent back to Aeveth, and they’ll be on foot again. What a conceit, using the plural. There is no guarantee they’ll even be together. Despite the mixed signals and indecision Taka still thinks the answer will be no, though sometimes a tiny beam of hope strikes him. 

It doesn’t matter, he determines. He can’t stay. Taka can’t stay with Carver and act as if friendship is all they share, and in the extremely unlikely event Carver says yes Taka will probably cut and run from the idea that someone loves him. Sweet Maker, the horror.

Leaving will hurt Carver, but Taka has to be more concerned about his own preservation until the inevitable happens. At least with leaving the pain will fade with enough time.

“All right,” Taka says. “I’ll teach you.”

Carver winces around after they make camp, rubbing at various sore and bruised body parts. Taka takes the opportunity to admire, since he figures he won’t get to after a few days. Carver’s physicality is the first thing everyone notices; that was certainly the case for Taka. Maker, Carver was a specimen back then, brooding around the Weisshaupt training grounds with a chip on his shoulder and a flashfire temper. No one guessed Carver had within him a love of pranks, and that’s how he and Taka officially met. It had been a banner year for stinkbugs, and they were going to capitalize on it.

Carver glances his way. Taka, not one to be ashamed of anything, leers back. Carver’s still a specimen with those thick thighs and broad chest and a backside that demands goosing, and between the starlight in his hair and the firelight gilding his jaw, he’s very easy on the eyes.

Taka sighs, then begins wiping down the plates from dinner.

To his surprise, Carver comes around the fire and takes a seat an arm’s length away. Not too close, of course. Taka returns his attention to his task, thinking about the hollowheart watercress he’d foraged from the banks of a stream and whether the horses have finished eating it. He hadn’t expected to see it growing so abundantly in wintertime, and having it for dinner had been the highlight of his day.

“Hey, Taka?” 

Taka braces himself. Carver’s voice is too soft, too intimate. Too much on the brink of saying something that has to do with feelings. “Yeah.”

“I’ve been thinking.” He pulls up his knees and rests his forearms atop them, letting his hands dangle. “Don’t say it. I know you’re thinking it.”

Carver’s right. Taka does it anyway. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Dammit, Taka.”

“Couldn’t help it.”

“You’re a right asshole, you know that?”

“So you’ve told me several thousand times.” Taka allows himself a smile. These moments are limited; he should cherish them with the time he has left.

“I was thinking,” Carver says again, “about…well, do you ever wonder what you’d be doing if you weren’t a warden?”

Taka snorts lightly. “It’s a bit late to be having regrets, don’t you think?”

“I had those a long time ago.”

Taka lifts his head to look at Carver, surprised. “What’s this? Introspection? I had no idea.”

It’s Carver’s turn to snort. “You’ve no idea about a lot of things. Have you thought about it? If you weren’t a warden?”

Taka shrugs. “A few times early on. There’s no point now. It’s been twenty years, with a Blight, several trips to the Deep Roads, and too many miles spent wandering. No, I don’t think about it.”

He waits. Carver isn’t forthcoming though, so after a moment, Taka says, “Are you wondering?”

“I’d been thinking about joining the templars.” Carver stares at the ground. “There hadn’t been anything else at the time but the expedition. Aveline blocked me from joining the guard, and Mother… Imara was busy a lot, and without Bethany Mother couldn’t…”

Carver sighs. “In the end, I’m glad I didn’t join the Templar Order.”

“A good thing, strange to say.” Taka puts the second plate down. “I’m sure your sister would have been furious at you. And red lyrium abominations are so last decade. Grey Wardens are fashionable forever. Whenever the next archdemon shows up, we’ll be in high demand. Plus, our uniforms are much nicer.”

“I was trying to be serious, and you’ve ruined it.”

Taka knows damned well Carver’s trying to be serious, and that’s why he’s doing his best to head him off at the pass. If Taka gets roped into being serious, Maker knows what would happen. “Sorry, not sorry.”

Carver shakes his head subtly. “I’m glad I didn’t join the Templars because I wouldn’t have met you.”

Taka pushes past the shock jolting his heart and waggles his eyebrows. “I am a gift. Finally, you acknowledge it.”

“A gift of shit,” Carver fires back.

“A gift’s a gift, not-the-Champion-Hawke.” Taka sits up straighter, lifting his chin haughtily. “That’s me.”

“You are the absolute worst and I don’t know why I’m trying.”

Oh, a guilt trip. Savvy play. Taka feels requisitely bad. “All right, fine. If I weren’t a warden I’d be at some Trevelyan manor house, married to some highborn lady who’d likely bore me to tears, with the obligatory offspring that I hope I had fun siring. Since my sister’s a templar the duty falls to me to procreate.” 

Taka grins, showing teeth. “Dodged that one. What a relief. For all being a warden entails, this is better. Imagine me having to play nice with my family all the time. The Game is fun, but the way they treat Aeveth sours a lot. And children? Maker, no. At least here I’m assured of our cause, and I have no brats to look after.”

“Saving the world.” Carver’s lips twitch. “Mara thought I sounded so righteous when I said it.”

“Righteous? Like a prig, you mean?”

“Learned it from you, my lord.”

“You didn’t even know me then, you ass.”

“Thank the Maker. You would have hated me when I was younger.” 

“I highly doubt it. I’ve better things to do with my time. Hating takes too much effort.”

“Thanks. I guess.” Carver shifts, putting one knee down. Silence sifts onto them, comforting and soft, and even the crackles and pops of the fire are muted beneath it.

“For what it’s worth…” It’s getting too easy and familiar again. Taka has to keep his resolve, ensure that things progress to the end. He twists, placing his hand on Carver’s shoulder, looking into clear blue eyes warm with refracted firelight. 

This will likely be the last chance Taka has to connect with Carver this way. 

“Despite how I act, I’ve been happy with you. I’ve never had ten years go by so fast, nor so well.” There are other words Taka wants to say, but that would likely be too honest, too raw. He pulls his hand away, and it feels like a farewell.

“Same.” Carver swallows, then looks away. “I’m...sorry. That I can’t figure this out. That I can’t be better about it.”

Taka’s nose stings, and he has to blink several times. He blames it on the heat coming off the fire. “Carver. You’ve never had to be better. You’ve always been the best. That’s what I admire about you.” That’s what Taka loves about him. Dammit, there are tears.

He measures out his breath like a line when Carver turns back. Carver’s eyes are suspiciously bright and if Taka slips even a tiny bit that’ll set off an uncontrollable reaction. Taka musters his every last ounce of strength and discipline, tells himself that under no circumstances is he allowed to break even though his heart’s already in two and sinking rapidly.

“Taka,” Carver says, hands clenching into fists, “I…”

“Don’t worry about Ansburg.” Taka stands up. “That was unfair of me to pressure you. Let’s make the most of the rest of this trip. I’m going to check on the horses. You go to sleep.” He sniffles once. “Maker, look at us. Two grown men about to cry.” 

“Ask Hurley…” Taka sees the flare of Carver’s jaw when he locks it, and has to press his lips together when Carver drags the heel of his hand across his eyes. “...when do we actually call it crying?”

Taka swallows, then swallows again. “He wouldn’t know. We’d have to ask Gene instead. That’s, um... a different column someone else will have to write.”

Carver’s head comes up as he stares. It’s the most uncomfortable feeling, being scrutinized the way he is, not being able to figure out what Carver’s thinking. Taka’s done with that, anyway. Rejection has never hurt this badly. Taka considers walking into the fire, but that would pale in comparison.

Instead he walks towards Hooty, who pricks her ears and nickers at him as he draws near. Taka swipes away his tears and dries his hand on her coat. She bends her neck around him when he hugs her. “Guess he was right about keeping you,” Taka murmurs into her, not daring to speak any louder for fear that his voice will crack. “I need a new friend. He’s going to need a new friend too. What do you think, girl? Should I get him a farewell gift?”

Hooty lips at him, and Taka takes that as a yes.

*** *** ***

The Grey Warden keep in Ansburg is more of a compound, stretching out along the banks of a Minanter River distributary several miles away from the city proper. It’s no Weisshaupt or Adamant, nor Vigils Keep or Chateau Haine. It’s a collection of cabins and a large meeting lodge with a small stable, armory, and dock.

Carver and Taka arrive on a cloudy late afternoon, reining up in front of the gryphon-adorned wrought iron gate. “Hello?” Carver calls.

A head peeks out of the guard station. “Who goes there?”

“Senior Wardens Carver Hawke and Takaleth Trevelyan, reporting for the annual meeting.”

The recruit exits the station and unlocks the gate, bowing to them both when they ride in. Taka angles Hooty towards the stable, and Carver does the same with Bear. He looks around, observing the activity level, noting familiar and unfamiliar faces. Ansburg is easily the quietest and smallest of the Grey Warden keeps he’s been to, though he hasn’t yet visited the headquarters in Rivain or Antiva. Even so, they’re likely better outfitted than this one, which is tragic considering the history of Blights in the Marches.

Taka dismounts and stretches, leaning to the left and the right, swinging his arms around. A stablehand appears to take the horses, but Taka waves him away. “I’ll handle this,” he says to Carver. “You tell Divia or Samed we’re here.”

Carver doesn’t move, not wanting to leave Taka’s side. He hasn’t yet processed that they’ve arrived at Ansburg and that the end of their partnership is imminent. He’s spent the last three days stressed and on edge, unable to tell Taka what he wants to hear even though Taka’s said it’s unnecessary. Carver still doesn’t know whether or not the bond he shares with Taka is love, and the last thing he wants to do is give an incomplete answer. It would let them both down.

“Go on,” Taka says, tying up Hooty.

Carver shoulders his pack reluctantly, heading towards the cabins that serve as barracks, his thoughts dogging his steps. He’s already let Taka down by delaying so long. He’d seen the leap of light in Taka’s eyes when the keep came into view. Taka is already gone. 

He drops off his pack in an empty cabin, then goes to the lodge house. The Ansburg keep is so small that the Warden-Commander’s office is in the same building as the kitchens and dining hall, which also houses the rookery and quartermaster’s office. Carver lifts a hand at the recruits he recognizes before climbing the stairs. Divia’s door is open; he knocks anyway.

The Warden-Commander of the Free Marches doesn’t even look up as she says, “Come in.”

Carver’s boots thunk too loudly as he enters. “Commander, reporting in.”

“Carver!” Divia finishes writing, then lays her quill down and stands up, coming around her desk. She’s a statuesque woman, her face all noble angles with a nose perfect for memorializing in sculpture, her eyes and skin a warm, dark brown, her long, wavy black hair kept back in a complicated braid. They clasp arms and embrace briefly. “Good to see you, Carver, well met. How are you? Where’s Taka, the rogue?”

He smiles briefly, his ears adjusting to the thick burr of Divia’s Starkhaven accent. “Taking care of the horses. You look well as always, Commander.”

“Ha!” Divia sticks her hands on her hips and flashes a grin. She’s athletically built, and about as sharp as the scimitar she uses as her preferred weapon. A tulwar, she calls it. “Buttering me up. You won’t say that when you see the assignments for this year. Horses? What horses?”

“The Inquisitor loaned us a couple of horses, though I think Taka isn’t giving his back.”

Divia whistles. “Must be nice having the Inquisitor for family. How come your sister’s never given you anything but grief?”

Carver scowls as they exit the office. Divia’s words are more apt than she knows. 

“Carver, lighten up. Or is Taka the only one allowed to tease you?” Divia cackles at herself as they trot down the stairs. “You don’t have to answer that. Oi, Samed!”

Another Grey Warden responds from across the room. “Commander! Hey, Carver!”

“Samed!” Carver meets Samed halfway for another arm clasp and embrace. Carver pounds Samed on the back a couple of times for good measure, grinning. Samed isn’t as tall as he nor Divia, but he’s squarely and densely built, with curly, close-cropped black hair, the weathered tan of his face creased with laugh lines, his pale green eyes filled with humor.

“What’s this?” Carver says, gesturing at his own face. “Some kind of new Orlesian fad where you put the tail of a dead squirrel on your lip?”

“He show this kind of disrespect to you?” Samed asks Divia, incredulous. “I’m your bloody field commander, you dog!”

Divia shrugs. “Of course not.”

“You’re the Orlesian,” Carver says, his grin widening. Maker, despite the circumstances, it’s nice to be back amongst the others. “No Orlesian commands me.”

“Fereldans!” Samed pretends to spit. “And it’s a moustache, not a squirrel.”

“It’s a squirrel,” Divia supplies, snickering. “Briar would agree.”

“Where is she, anyway?” Carver asks.

Samed smiles; Carver calls it evil. “Whipping some recruits into shape. She’s extra cranky today. Where’s Taka?”

“The stables.”

“Found some horses, did you?”

“They’re the Inquisitor's.”

“Must be nice being related.”

Carver laughs. “That’s what we all said. Are Rith and Thom here yet?”

“Another day or two at most,” Divia replies. “I’ve got a couple of recruits for you to meet, too. Samed and Briar hauled in the catch all the way from Wycome. With the other recruits here, we’ll do a Joining tomorrow. We’ve delayed long enough.”

Carver suppresses a shudder as he recalls the _wrongness_ in his veins that wrenched at his soul, the darkness that bubbled through his body, the song that burst through his brain, washing away the fatigue, fortifying him with strength. “Andraste watch over them.”

“Indeed,” Divia says. “Go relax for the rest of the night, Carver. Will you want to be present tomorrow?”

He shakes his head. “I’d rather not.”

“Don’t blame you.” Samed claps Carver on the back hard enough for it to ricochet through his chest. “What Divia said. Go relax. Me, I’ve got paperwork.”

“I’ll introduce the new ones to you at dinner tonight,” Divia says.

 _So we can remember their names in case they die tomorrow,_ Carver finishes for her. “I think I’ll go wash up.”

“Good idea. You’re covered in dust. Tell Taka to come see me, will you?” Divia strides towards the door. “I’m going to walk a circuit.”

Taka’s more likely to avoid him, but Carver keeps his mouth shut and nods. Instead he plots his route to the baths, stopping at the kitchens for leftovers and bread, going back to the cabin to retrieve his things. Once there he strips off his armor and gathers his dirty clothes, balling them up in his arms for the trip to the washhouse.

Finally he makes it to the baths, where enchanted stones built into the tile-lined basins keep the water hot at all hours. Carver takes a bucket and fills it, thinks better of it, then gets a second bucket so he’ll have enough to rinse out his hair. He’ll need a haircut too; a glance at his reflection in the water lets him know he’s gotten shaggy and overgrown. _Taka,_ Carver thinks. _Wait, no. Briar._ He’ll ask her or Rith for a favor. If he cuts his own hair he’ll be the laughingstock of the wardens for a week straight, minimum.

Carver scrubs himself until he squeaks, then crosses to the other side for a well deserved soak. His feet slap against cold, wet slate, the sound echoing slightly in the empty bathhouse. He can get his hair cut tonight if Briar isn’t too grumpy, he figures. Normally he’d have Taka do it, but Carver can’t bring himself to impose, not when Taka doesn’t want to be near him.

He hasn’t said it, but that’s what Carver’s intuition tells him. Carver can’t blame him at all. He wades into the scalding water with a frown, frowning more deeply when he accidentally treads on one of the magic stones. He should be paying more attention, but without any immediate goals his mind goes straight to being occupied with Taka.

Carver sits, and a half-moaned sigh pours from him as he allows himself to sink up to his neck in the water. Hot water truly is godly, and for a moment Carver luxuriates in it, letting the simple pleasure of it wash through him, rousing his spirits as well as old memories. When he was a child his father would enchant the bathwater for his whole family; Imara and Bethany picked up the knack easily once their magic manifested. In that Carver had been spoiled, having never experienced the unpleasantness of a cold bath until the barracks at Ostagar.

He hunches down further until the water is a hair under his nostrils. Carver wrinkles his nose, putting a hand to his chin. He needs a shave as well. Facial hair, as Taka has told him, isn’t his best look. 

Well, Carver thinks, now that Taka won’t be around, maybe he should try growing a beard. That’d be an adjustment.

There will be a lot of things Carver will need to adjust to without Taka, and the thought sends a wash of sadness through him. He’s had three days to reconcile himself to the notion, but three days simply isn’t enough time. Carver isn’t the biggest fan of change to start with, and the number of changes that will come with losing his partner of ten years is so high it’s insurmountable. Really he doesn’t want Taka to leave at all, but he can’t keep saying that without giving something to Taka in return.

And Carver isn’t sure he has anything to give.

Friendship, yes. Brotherhood in and out of battle. Close comfort and habit and whole acceptance of the other, bad and good. Years of jokes no one else understands. None of these are precisely what Taka wants, though he’s said he’s content with them. If not for Sparrow Carver wouldn’t have suspected otherwise. 

_He was going to die without telling me._ Maker, Carver can’t imagine the burden Taka’s been carrying. It probably means something that the knowledge causes Carver so much pain that he has to press his hand to his forehead, his skin steaming as it leaves the water, and will away the sudden tightness that turns his breathing shallow. His eyes sting from the heat of the bath as he thinks about Taka disappearing into the Deep Roads, bow strung and quiver full, his lips quirked in his trademark mischievous smile, his last secret held so tightly not even death could pry it free. 

Carver groans under the force of his realization, slapping the water so that it sprays across the bath. It isn’t Taka’s death that hurts Carver the most; they’re all dead, and they’ve all accepted it. Andraste’s tits, it’s the not telling. And if it’s the not telling - if what hurts is knowing that he never would have the chance to return affections, then…

Carver groans louder, then takes a breath and plunges himself underwater. Stupid, stupid, stupid. They’re both stupid. Taka’s stupid but Carver’s stupider and everything is shit and Taka’s going to die in a year or two and Carver’s going to sit by and let it happen because he can’t figure his damn self out. He’s not even going to go down to the Deep Roads with Taka because Taka wants absolutely nothing to do with him since, again, Carver is stupid and has said nothing and has let time run out. All because he isn’t sure.

He comes up with a gasp, slicks his hair back, wipes water from his eyes. “You are a fucking idiot, Carver Hawke!” he yells at himself, his voice bouncing around the chamber. Then he holds still, the sound of rippling water and his heaving, erratic breaths too loud in his ears.

Carver knuckles his eyes, then puts his head in his hand, squeezing with his thumb and middle finger until he’s calm again. Finally he says, “Maker, I’m a fucking idiot.”

The dinner bell rings in the distance, filtering distorted into the bathhouse. Carver hauls himself out of the bath, gritting his teeth against the cold. He needs to talk to Taka that much is plain, but he isn’t sure what to say, how to say it, or even when to say it. Taka will be at dinner, but Carver won’t barge into Taka’s socializing so he can stammer something that makes no sense.

He has time, he reassures himself. Taka can’t go anywhere until all the wardens are assembled and the assignments handed out. Carver has time to come up with something coherent, and Carver has time to talk to Rith, who’s got experience with loving his teammates in both a romantic and platonic fashion.

That’s it, Carver thinks. He should go talk to Rith for some clarity. And then ask for a haircut. No, wait. Haircut first because he’d rather have Rith in a good mood while holding a bladed instrument, and _then_ advice.

Yeah, that’s it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorf squad incoming in 2 chapters! Woohoo!
> 
> I do so love comments <3 by all means leave me some.


	10. Chapter 10

Stefan hadn’t survived.

Taka exhales loudly, closing his eyes, clenching his jaw. He listens to the footsteps of his fellow wardens retreating through the winter-barren forest, waiting until the crackles of leaves fade to silence. Zhen and Huali are alive, barely, and are on their way back to the lodge to recover, escorted by Samed and Divia.

When he opens his eyes he sees Briar with her arms folded, looking out over the river. The waters move sluggishly, caught in a state between liquid and solid, unsure if they should become ice. “I’m ready if you are,” Taka says.

She turns her head just enough to glance at him. “A moment.”

“I’ll begin preparations, then.” Taka pivots and exits the clearing, walking slowly between tall, leafless beech trees, each one an emotionless grey sentinel. He selects twigs and brush appropriate for kindling, then a few thicker fallen branches lying half-covered on the ground. He takes his time, giving Briar more than a moment. Between the two of them, she had known Stefan better.

Briar nods at him when he returns, and Taka pretends he can’t see the tear track gleaming on her cheek. They prepare Stefan’s body together in silence. Briar raises her staff when they finish, the focus on top glowing. Taka puts himself a safe distance away.

He speaks when the flames are well into their feast. “He was a good kid.”

She replies without looking at him, her inflection dull. “Better than many who we put through this, yes.”

“I’m sorry, Briar. We’ll toast him tonight.”

The focus glows brighter. Taka can only assume Briar is augmenting the heat of the flames as she stares at the pyre, her face full of sorrow. There is a breeze that keeps blowing the smoke away, and for that Taka is grateful.

When Stefan is nothing but ashes Briar says, “I would like to write his entry.”

They turn towards the forest, beginning the walk back to the compound. “I don’t think anyone would argue with you. Perhaps Samed.”

“Perhaps,” Briar agrees. Then, “Creators, what a waste. He would have been good.”

“Would you have held him back?” Taka asks. “Told him to give his whole life in service without the vows?”

“There was nothing I could do to stop him. He wanted it. He’d already been here for years. He idolized Samed and Divia.” Briar shakes her head. “I hate lying to them about the damned ritual, Taka. Sometimes - there has to be a better way than this.”

Taka replies, voice gentle. “He idolized you as well, Briar.”

She grunts.

“As for the better way, I’m sure one exists that has naught to do with blood magic. Unfortunately, we haven’t found it yet.” Taka steps over a fallen log.

Briar steps lightly onto the same log and hops down. “Wasn’t Carver’s cousin seeking a cure for the Calling?”

Hearing his name sends a spear through Taka’s chest. Taka has managed to go half the afternoon without thinking about Carver, which is a victory. Hopefully he can get through this conversation without losing his composure. “Allegedly. Weisshaupt would know, but I’m not certain whether we’ve had an update.”

“Isn’t she a mage as well?”

“Yes. Magic runs deep in that family tree.”

Briar snorts. “As it does in yours and mine. I wonder what she thinks of blood magic.”

Curiosity pushes past the alarm. “Why do you say that?”

“Because.” Briar frowns as she thinks. “We use it in the Joining. Whatever is made can be unmade, Taka. Perhaps we need blood magic to reverse it. Blood magic is a tool, and with stakes this high we shouldn’t ignore it.”

“You tread dangerous paths, Briar.”

“Get your head out of the Chantry, Taka, we’re not templars. Grey Wardens do what they must. Would you turn down blood magic if it truly was the way to prevent the Calling? If it was the way to scour the Taint from our veins? Imagine if we didn’t have to die after twenty years.”

At this point Taka can’t say. Dreamless sleep would be welcome, but so would an end to his heartbreak. “How much have you been thinking about this?”

“I will not be attempting blood magic, if that is what you’re trying to ask.” Briar looks sidelong at him. “I don’t have a teacher, I have no desire to speak to demons, and I wouldn’t know where to begin doing something so complex. And blood magic is magic. All magic requires study.”

“Which you don’t want to do.” Taka sighs with relief. “That’s quite the theory you have, Briar.”

“Maybe you should pitch it to Carver’s sister. Quite the mage for quite the theory.” They leave the woods, pointing themselves towards the lodge house.

Taka scoffs, grinning. “I am only allowed to tease Carver about Imara once a month, and I’ve already met the quota. I won’t stick my neck out for you, Briar. If you want a conversation with him about Mara, then you’ll need to start it.”

“Pass,” Briar replies quickly. “What about your cousin?”

“She was a Circle mage. I’d wager she thinks blood magic is foul. My family’s lousy with templars too, so that doesn’t help.”

“Like your sister.”

Taka scowls instantly. “We don’t talk about my sister.”

“Touchy, touchy,” Briar says, smirking. “You and Carver are such sensitive little brothers.”

Taka doesn’t want to discuss any of the subjects at present. Not blood magic, not Carver, not Raeneth. He repeats himself, smiling through gritted teeth for comedic effect. “We. Don’t. Talk. About. My sister.”

“All right,” Briar replies. “Let’s talk about something else instead.”

“Yes, let’s.”

“I heard you got free horses.”

Not this again. “They weren’t free, they were a loan. What did Samed tell you?”

“Samed told me nothing. I saw them grazing and asked one of the boys about them. Spoiled little lord, aren’t you?”

Taka grins smugly, then winks at Briar. “Nothing about me is little.”

Briar rolls her eyes so hard that they rattle in her head. “You have no respect for anything, the situation included. Such conceit.”

“Hardly conceit,” Taka says, letting the accusation roll off him. Briar isn’t wrong. “Empirical proof. You could know for yourself. Get some hands-on experience.”

“The only staff I’ll be gripping is this one,” Briar replies flatly. “The only staff I’m _interested_ in is this one.”

Taka chuckles. “And what a magnificent staff. To that, I cannot compare. Mercy, Briar, I didn’t know that was your standard.”

Briar laughs, the sound short. “As it ever has been, friend. So are you keeping the horses?”

“No,” Taka says, then realizes it’s a lie. He doesn’t bother correcting himself. It won’t matter to Briar if he tells the truth or not; what Taka has to do won’t impact her in any way. It does, however, remind him of something he must do. “If you’ll excuse me, Briar, I’ve just remembered I have an errand to run. I’ll see you at dinner.”

“An errand?” She gives him a quizzical look.

“I have to write a missive to my aunt. Terribly boring lordly stuff, all about appropriate gifts and presentation and such.” Taka smiles.

“All right, I’ll see you at dinner.” Briar squints at the lodge house. “Hmm, I think Thom and Rith are over there.”

“Is that so?” They’ll be welcome distractions for parties not himself, which gives Taka plenty of time to write and deal with the resultant emotional pain. They probably won’t notice him arriving late. “I’ll be quick about it then. See you soon.”

Briar nods.

*** *** ***

“Commander?” Taka raps a knuckle on the doorframe.

Divia pushes herself up and back from her desk, inhaling loudly. In front of her is a map of the Free Marches, a small pile of pins, and scraps of paper Taka recognizes as the lottery requests. “Yes?”

“Might I impose for a minute?”

She gives him a searching look, her head tilting as she considers. Then she purses her lips and says, “Shut the door.”

Taka does so as he enters, walking pad-footed to one of the threadbare armchairs in front of her desk.

“It must be serious if you’re coming at me with my title,” Divia says, her head tilting the other direction. “What’s going on?”

Taka sits, gathering himself. Divia is no slouch, and he has to play this correctly. If he’s courteous his request will be better received. “I had wondered if the assignments had been completed. My report to you from several months ago lies heavy on my mind. I’m anxious to return and check in on the village.”

“If I remember correctly, you and Carver found and killed the emissary, cleared the remaining darkspawn, and put down the ghouls.” Divia leans back in her chair and crosses her legs ankle to knee. “Thorough as always, unless you left something out of the report.”

“Of course not,” Taka replies. “However, a second check for Blight sickness may be warranted. The last ghoul we found was mostly asymptomatic. I have concerns.”

Divia nods reasonably. “I do as well.”

“I am glad we agree regarding the health of the villagers. I’m willing to depart as soon as possible.” He sighs a little to make his next words convincing. “Though I am saddened to part ways with all of you. Duty comes first.”

Divia presses her lips together, the corners of her mouth creasing. Then she snickers and slaps the arm of her chair. “You are a lying sack of shit, Taka. But if you want a route that will take you in that direction, I can oblige.”

He grins at her. “Thank you, Divia.”

“That’s more like it. Ah-ah, before you go.” Divia tuts at him, pointing her finger and waggling it. She then lowers it, her wrist arcing downwards in a slow drag, indicating that Taka should put his bottom back in his seat. “You need to answer something for me first.”

He’s been expecting this. Taka fixes an innocent smile on his face, throws in the eye crinkle. Might as well make a good show of it considering Divia won’t be buying tickets. “Yes, Divia dear?”

“Why didn’t you request Carver this year?”

Taka puts a note of innocent surprise in his voice. He leans forward, touching his fingertips to his chest. “Divia, the whole reason for the lottery is that I can plausibly deny having anything to do with my assignment when it comes out, no matter what my request is.”

“Taka,” she replies, placing her own fingers against her sternum, matching his faux sweetness, “the lottery serves as a means to foster a sense of comradeship across all wardens regardless of rank, but everyone will know when you don’t go pootling off with Carver that something is very, _very_ wrong.” Divia doesn’t move a muscle, but suddenly her focus is as sharp as the sword she bears. “Why didn’t you request Carver this year? Why are you trying to run off so soon?”

“So soon?” Taka says, deflecting. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re implying.”

“You arrived with Carver two days ago and you’re already set to ship out. Cut the shit. What happened?”

Divia levels a look at him, pinning Taka to his chair, all traces of playfulness gone.

Taka sighs quietly, lowering his head. “How much time do you have?”

She returns the sigh and gets up, walking over to a side table with a pitcher and a pair of glasses. Divia pours water and sets the glasses on her desk, then leans against the edge of it. “I’ve as much time as you need.”

Taka takes a sip of water, puts the glass back on Divia’s desk, observes the cut of sunlight on the faded rug for a full minute. He speaks haltingly, just above a whisper. “I’d been keeping something from Carver, and he found out.”

Divia says nothing; Taka’s grateful for the silence. “I’ve been having trouble waking up properly. I have lucid nightmares where my body can’t move. I’m forgetting things. Carver says I’ve been talking in my sleep, and that my nights are worsening.”

“Let me look at you.”

Taka lifts his chin so she can inspect his face better. “Are you seeing any other signs?” Divia asks, taking his head into her hands, turning it from side to side.

“Perhaps. I’m tired, but traveling’s tiring. Sometimes I hear the song, but I can ignore it still. The Joining yesterday, though. Urthemiel’s blood pulled at me.”

Divia releases him, frowning. “Nothing on your face as of yet, but from what you tell me…” She sighs. “Well, you have some time.”

“I think I have a year or two.” 

“That long?”

“So eager to get rid of me, Divia?”

“Of course not. But you aren’t truly the optimistic type.”

Taka drops his eyes back to the streak of sunlight on the floor. “I did some thinking. It’s been twenty years. I’d like to write my entry for the Book, if that’s all right. Just in case. Get my things in order. Take some time to make up something truly magnificent.”

“More magnificent than what you’ve already done?” Divia huffs quietly. “You’ll need to stay on a bit longer to do that. Give me that year at the very least.”

“No promises. I’ll send a letter with my entry after I leave. Better yet, I can try wheedling one of those communication gems out of my cousin, and then I’ll be able to dictate my entry to you. Assign me the Kirkwall route and I’ll make it happen.”

Divia purses her lips, dubious. “You’ll be heading that direction whether I tell you or no, so I’ll do nothing.”

The corners of his mouth curl faintly. “Are you calling me insubordinate, Divia?”

“I have already called you a shit, so we might as well add onto it. You do what you want most of the time, but because you’re reasonable and I also can’t stop you, I allow it. You splitting up with Carver? That’s unreasonable.”

“A man might want new experiences every now and then.”

Divia snorts her disbelief. “You and Carver have been together longer than any other team here. You’re consistently among the best teams, if not the best. Your teamwork is so excellent that you’ve turned down well-deserved promotions to stay with him. Someone with the education and upbringing you had is invaluable and were we not between Blights, you wouldn’t be allowed to go off on your own. You could have been stationed in Weisshaupt; you could have been field-commander handily. Put that all together, add in your reassignment request, and…?” Divia’s eyebrows furrow with concern. “What happened?”

Taka grimaces. “Didn’t work, huh?”

“Didn’t work. Don’t know why you tried.”

“Habit, I guess.” Taka heaves a huge sigh, slumping so far back in his chair that he’s almost laid out. He grips the armrests and stares at the ceiling. “I haven’t actually said this out loud to anyone, you know. Not even Carver. The idiot asked me a yes or no question.”

Divia waits.

“I love him.” It’s not so bad to admit it, Taka thinks.

Maker, yes it is.

Taka deliberately doesn’t look at Divia when she says, “Oh, Taka.” He can hear the sadness in her expression and the pity in her eyes. “That’s what he found out?”

“Can you…” Taka swallows with difficulty. Weirdly enough, there’s a lump in his throat. “Can you at least pretend to be surprised?”

“How did he react?”

One shake of his head becomes two, then three, then a solid five seconds of head shaking. “Nothing. He doesn’t...he says he needs more time to figure it out, but I can only take so much of this waiting. If he hadn’t found out that would be different; I wasn’t ever going to tell him. But he knows and it’s destroyed everything. I can’t live like this.” 

Divia makes a quiet, pained noise, which Taka ignores. “You weren’t going to tell him?”

“There was no point to it. I know where his affections lie, and they aren’t with me.”

“Even without reciprocation, Taka, you weren’t going to tell him? Not even now?”

Taka wills his eyes to stop burning. “That was the plan. Which I can’t execute now that he knows. We had agreed to keep going on the way we were, but I can’t do it. I can’t be near him like this.”

“There was nothing to lose in telling him. Taka -”

“You’re wrong,” Taka interrupts her, voice firm. “You’re wrong. It’s ruined my friendship with him. That was all we had, all I thought I could have, and I haven’t even that anymore. I shouldn’t have -”

He shuts his mouth, grinding his molars together so nothing else can come out, then closes his eyes so tears can’t escape. When he has control again he opens his eyes, finding Divia’s gaze, holding it. “Please, Divia. Commander. Let me go.”

She’s still sad, and it makes Taka uncomfortable. Others could laugh at him or with him, be angry with him, be annoyed with him, and Taka could shrug it off. Sympathy, though, that’s almost as bad as love.

“How does Carver feel about this?”

Taka glances away. “He doesn’t want me to leave.”

“Don’t you think his feelings matter here? He knows you love him and he still wants you around.”

“As a friend and nothing more.” Taka swallows. “He won’t tell me no, but he also won’t tell me yes. ”

The silence of contemplation fills the room. “Is there no way to reconcile you two?” Divia asks finally.

“What’s there to reconcile?” Taka responds. “I love him, but he doesn’t love me. I can’t reconcile that. If he hadn’t found out I could have kept going, but…”

“Oh, Taka,” Divia says, stricken. “How long have you loved him?”

Taka bends his knees and gets his feet flat on the floor, pushing himself into a sitting position. He can remember the day he realized he loved Carver, clear as crystal. It’s been...

“Eight years.” It feels a relief to say it.

Divia’s mouth forms a tight line. “I’m sorry, Taka.”

“Don’t be.” Taka gives her a slight smile. “We’ve had wonderful times. I don’t regret anything. How could I? He’s the best of us, truly. But I can’t go on. Someone else will need to take my place.”

Divia bows her head briefly, then levers herself up to standing. She takes the few steps she needs to get back behind her desk, braces herself on one arm, and picks up two slips of paper. She lays them on one of the routes, fixing them to the map with pins. “Tell you what, Taka. I haven’t had word from Weisshaupt in much too long. When you get there, you can write your entry straight into the Book yourself. I’ll send you with Thom. It’s too late in the afternoon to start a trip now. You can leave tomorrow morning, skip the general meeting, and take the river road.”

Taka has to close his eyes against the rush of emotion. When he opens them, he notes that Divia’s a bit blurry. “Thank you, Commander.”

“At attention, Taka.” Divia steps around her desk, going to the center of the room where it’s clear.

He obeys, standing tall in front of her and saluting. “Warden-Commander.”

She returns the salute crisply. “In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice. I hope we meet again, warden. Go to your duty.”

Taka bows, staying down and counting until five, giving Divia the respect she deserves. “One more thing, commander.”

“What is it?”

“I sent a bird last night after dinner. If you could…” Taka closes his eyes again and takes a steadying breath. “If you could send Carver to Ostwick, specifically the Trevelyan farm outside the city, I would appreciate it.”

Divia regards him, puzzled. “You don’t think that’ll hurt him, splitting you two up, then sending him to your family’s estate? Might I ask why?”

A smile curves his lips. “We had an agreement that I am bound to honor. I got a horse, so it’s only fitting that Carver gets a dog. There’ll be a mabari pup waiting for him in a month or so.”

“Sweet Maker. Andraste preserve you, Taka, you really...” Divia folds her arms over her stomach and shakes her head, frowning. “I’ll make sure to assign him that route.”

“Thank you, commander.” Taka exits, and heads to his cabin to begin packing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if I've missed errors I made, I wanted to get this up before the window of my schedule closed. We are t-minus one chapter away from the dorf squad!
> 
> Wait, this story is about the humans, isn't it??
> 
> Comments, questions, flames, and general bitching will be accepted.


	11. Chapter 11

“How’s that look?” Rith asks, holding up a hand mirror. “Do you want it shorter?”

Carver frowns and inspects his reflection as Rith brushes away pieces of hair. “No, it’s fine. My thanks.”

“Taka not around or something?” Rith wipes off the scissor blades and stows them in a drawer. 

That’s an understatement, Carver thinks. Ever since they arrived Taka’s been scarce, making a concerted effort to avoid him, even attending the Joining, though to be fair Taka would have done it regardless out of a sense of duty. Carver understands either way.

He shrugs. “He’s busy doing something, I’m sure.”

Rith nods, non-committal. “All right, you’re all done.”

Carver gets up, sidestepping the locks of hair scattered on the floor. He waits as Rith fetches the broom and sweeps up. The silence stretches over the sound of bristles against wood.

“Can I talk to you about something, Rith?” Carver asks once it’s become unbearable.

“Oh thank the ancestors, I was beginning to think you’d never get around to it.” Rith shoves the pile of dirt and hair out the door and over the side of the porch. “What’s bothering you?”

“It’s, uh…” Carver clears his throat. “It’s about Falla and Gwydd.”

Rith raises a sandy blond eyebrow. He’s gotten more freckly since the last time they’d seen each other, Carver notes. “What about them?”

“I was just curious…” Carver clears his throat again. His cheeks are hot. He tries to think of a more subtle way to ask his question, but nothing materializes. “How, um, did you know you were in love with Falla but not Gwydd?”

Rith’s other eyebrow creeps up his forehead. “What makes you think I didn’t love them both?”

Carver groans. “That’s not helpful.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“How did you know you loved Falla in a different way than Gwydd?” There, that’s more specific.

“Well,” Rith says, “I kissed her, but I didn’t kiss Gwydd.”

Carver facepalms.

Rith continues. “What’s going on with you and Taka? You thinkin’ about kissing him?”

“No!” Carver exclaims.

“Really? Huh.”

It’s something Carver’s considered since his epiphany in the bathhouse two nights ago. It wouldn’t be so bad, maybe. If Taka made the first move… “Really.”

“You don’t sound very convincing.” Rith shuts the door to the cabin, hugging himself and rubbing his arms to warm up. “You’re asking me about the difference between me loving Falla and me loving Gwydd. There wasn’t much of one.”

“Would you have kissed Gwydd?”

Rith shrugs. “Maybe? Not really.”

“Even if he confessed to being in love with you?”

Rith freezes, then pivots slowly on his foot, eyes round as saucers. “You’re joking.”

“What?” Carver shifts, unsure if they’re talking about the same thing. “What if he did though?”

“Carver,” Rith says evenly. “Is Taka in love with you?”

“I haven’t - “ Maker dammit, he hasn’t said a single word about that! “Why are you bringing him into this?”

“Carver Hawke,” Rith says, still even. “I’ll ask again, since your skull is thick. Is Taka in love with you?”

Carver looks away, unable to face the anticipation in Rith’s eyes. “Yes.”

“Astyth’s stitches,” Rith breathes. “And you don’t know if you love him back, which is why you’re here asking me about Gwydd and Falla.”

“Yeah.”

“You really don’t know?”

Carver grunts. “I have an idea, but I’m not completely sure.”

“How do you not know?”

Carver squirms a bit. “I just...I care for him, obviously, he’s my friend. I don’t know if I love him or if I can reciprocate the way he wants.”

“The way he wants?” Rith gives him a weird look. “Is this about sex?”

Carver gapes for a second in disbelief. “Fucking Maker, no! It’s not about that at all! It’s about figuring out my feelings!”

Rith opens his eyes wide, blinks rapidly a few times, then shakes his head. “All right,” he says, holding up a finger. “You’d die for each other.”

“Of course. He’s my partner.” Or was his partner. Carver swallows against the pain.

“You appreciate his company.”

“Sometimes.” Most of the time. More than he’d realized until Taka had stopped talking to him. Catching glimpses of Taka around the compound only makes Carver miss him more. Without Taka, Carver has no one to talk to.

“He makes you laugh.”

“He’s funny,” Carver says, amending the statement. “We tease each other. We’ve got plenty of inside jokes. He’s good at pranking and getting a rise out of people.”

“You trust him completely.”

Carver frowns. “You covered that already. We’ve been together for ten years, of course I trust him implicitly.”

“You can’t imagine life without him.”

Well, when Rith puts it that way… “Ten years, didn’t I just say that? A whole decade stuck together.” 

“That isn’t a denial,” Rith says. “So what I’m hearing is that he’s loyal to you, and vice versa. What else do you like about him?”

“He’s brilliant,” Carver replies, then thinks. “He’s a lot smarter than I am. Than most of us. Knows how to talk to people and smile the right way to get what he wants. He’s got charisma, like my sister. And yeah, he’s loyal, really loyal. He doesn’t have many loyalties, but the ones he does have, like his family, his duty...” And Carver as well until recently. Maker, how much has he hurt Taka?

“And you,” Rith says again.

“I suppose.”

“Handsome too,” Rith adds.

“Yeah,” Carver sighs, then blinks as he realizes what that sounds like. “I mean, from all the people parading into his bed, he’s got to be. Still a shit, though. I’m the only one who can put up with it.”

“That’s what, eight things at least?” Rith puts his hands down; he’s been keeping count. His voice drips with so much sarcasm that Carver wouldn’t be surprised to see a puddle on the floor. “But no, you don’t love him. Just friends.”

Carver scowls. “I haven’t said anything that a friend wouldn’t say.”

“Maybe you should try kissing him,” Rith suggests with a horrifyingly cheesy grin. “That should clear things up right away.”

“Maybe _you_ should,” Carver retorts, having nothing else to fall back on.

Rith snickers. “No thanks. For one thing, I don’t actually love him. For another, you might get jealous.”

Carver makes a noise of frustration. “I don’t love him!”

“I don’t love him!” Rith mimics him, complete with an awful accent. “I’m Carver Hawke and my partner of ten years is in love with me and instead of saying no I don’t love him back I ask someone else about how I’ll know if I’m _really_ in love, for real - “

“I don’t sound like that!” In the back of his mind Carver knows he’s being a brat. “And I don’t get jealous. He’s had so many people in his bed there’s no way I can be jealous.”

“Oh,” Rith says, nodding. “I get it. You want to be one of those people then?”

“Not at all,” Carver fires back.

“Why’s that?”

Carver sighs. “Because he doesn’t have any attachment to them. They’re just bodies and fun for him.”

“You’re saying you want to be more than a warm body and fun, then?”

“Andraste’s fucking tits, no!” Carver deliberately does not mention the conversation where he got upset with Taka for not fancying him or finding him attractive.

“Then what do you want?”

“Why is everyone asking me this question?” Stomping sounds like a good idea right now; Carver stomps around Rith’s room in frustration.

Rith doesn’t move. Rather, he looks amused. “Who’s everyone?”

“You and Taka!”

“Oh wow,” Rith says, a note of breathless amazement in his voice, “that really is everyone!”

“Fuck you, dwarf.”

“Shouldn’t you be saying that to Taka instead?”

Carver clenches his fists as Rith laughs openly at him, throwing his head back. 

“By the Stone, you’re dense. How does Taka have any patience with you?”

A long exhale through his nose. “He doesn’t, really.”

“Seems like he does since you get partnered off year after year.”

Carver drops his gaze to a compelling whorl of grain on the floorboards. “Not this year. We’ve split up.”

Rith clicks his tongue sharply. “Shit. You didn’t.”

“Wasn’t my idea. I understand him wanting to run. It’s my fault.” Dammit, Carver doesn’t need this right now. “This is all my fault. I didn’t want him to leave but he’s going to, and I don’t know what to do with myself, I don’t want a new partner, I just want him, and I don’t want to think about adjusting to someone new or him being happier with someone else, and - I just…” 

If he doesn’t shut up he’ll be in trouble. “This is all my fault.”

“Carver, you stupid shit,” Rith says, shaking his head. “You Stone-blind sod, you dumb fuck. You love him and you haven’t told him.”

Bristling, Carver says, “I wasn’t sure!”

“How much more sure do you want to be? Ancestors help you.” Rith is clearly exasperated, but Carver doesn’t know what to do about it. “You wanted to know how I knew I loved Falla differently from Gwydd? I wanted her to be happy. I wanted her happiness and safety above my own. I wanted to make her smile and laugh even though we were all dead. I wanted a life with her, but because that wasn’t possible I was willing to put my life before hers without question.”

It’s all true, Carver thinks, remembering the Deep Roads. “What about Gwydd?”

“I never thought about making Gwydd happy the way I wanted Falla to be. I never imagined us having a home and a family together. Gwydd would always be in my life, like Kenric, but not the same way Falla would be in my life. Falla has a daughter somewhere, and I wanted the three of us to be together. I loved Gwydd, but we just...were. Maybe without Falla it could have been something more, but Falla was always first.” Rith pauses. “Does that clear anything up for you?”

“I don’t…” Carver falters. He’s definitely thought about a life with Taka, and two dogs instead of one.

“Tomorrow we have the meeting. We’ll get our assignments and the day after that we head out. In two days’ time you won’t have Taka with you. He’s the best partner you’ve ever had and what, that’s it? You’re just going to roll over?”

“I already said.” Carver crosses his arms, defensive. Taka’s the best friend Carver’s ever had, too. “I didn’t want him to leave.”

“How did all of this start, anyway?” Rith narrows his eyes. “Taka wouldn’t just blab that information to you. It’s not like him.”

Carver gives himself a squeeze, bracing himself. “Someone told me and I asked him about it. He wasn’t going to tell me, even though... Rith, he’s only got a year or two left. He was going to go to his Calling and never say a word.” Deep breath in, deep breath out. His heart aches so badly he could hold the pain in his hand.

Rith’s eyes soften; his voice gentles. “You two. Pair of tezpadam and you don’t even know it.”

Carver blinks a few times, hard.

Rith snorts. “Why are you still here?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean why are you still talking to me when you could be out there with Taka, telling him how you feel?”

Carver rubs at his forehead. “He doesn’t want to see me.”

“Not true. And maybe you need to get over yourself a little. If he loves you, he’ll want to see you.” Rith nods as if he’s the authority on these matters.

“He’s made it clear he doesn’t want to see me.”

“Yeah, well, if he thinks you don’t love him, I don’t blame him. But you do, so you should tell him before it’s too late. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Carver looks away. He hears Rith’s footsteps across the floor, then a soft scraping noise and the crumple of paper. The ball caroms off Carver’s temple. “Hey!”

“Go tell him before it’s too late, Carver. If he only has a year left? The fuck is wrong with you? What are you waiting for?”

Nothing. Carver’s waiting for nothing. “Thanks, Rith.”

Rith stoops to pick up the ball, then chucks it at him again. “You’re welcome. Idiot.”

Carver tries to keep himself to a walk but it’s useless, not when he’s filled with restless, anxious energy. He jogs towards the lodge house, figuring that Taka’s most likely to be there given it’s almost dinnertime. No one there’s seen him though, so Carver tries the archery range and the practice yard. No luck.

“C’mon,” he mutters as he turns for Taka’s cabin. As he comes up to it he sees the windows are dark. He knocks on the door anyway. “Taka?”

No response, as expected. Carver peers through a window just in case Taka’s hiding from him, shielding his eyes against the last rays of sunlight reflecting orange and red off the glass. Carver’s shadow stretches into the room, over the neatly made bed, and touches the table that should have Taka’s things on it.

Except the table is bare, and the room looks uninhabited.

“Oh, fuck,” Carver whispers, tingles of panic shooting through him. Goosebumps race down his forearms as waves of fear swell in his chest. “Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck. Fuck!”

He tries the door. In his haste he opens it too fast and too hard, and it bounces off the wall with a crack. “Taka?” Carver calls, though it’s clear by now that no one’s in the cabin. “Fucking shit, Taka!”

Carver slams the door behind him and takes off at a run for the stables to check for Hooty. Maybe, he thinks, maybe Taka just changed cabins to fuck with him. Taka loves pranks, and it’s been awhile since Carver’s been got. Maker, he hopes it’s a prank. If it is, Taka’s earned himself the beating of a lifetime.

Carver puts his head down and pushes himself faster, not caring that the acolytes and recruits are staring after him as he pounds past. The stables aren’t terribly far and there’s no need to run, except that there’s absolutely a need to run. Carver needs to be where Taka is immediately, needs to confess his feelings before Taka slips completely from Carver’s grasp.

He catches sight of Thom walking down the path from the stables, his whistle lifting like birdsong into the air. It clashes with the ringing of the dinner bell that’s started in the distance. “Thom!” Carver shouts. “Thom, have you seen Taka?”

“Carver,” Thom greets him as he skids to a stop. “Yeah, I’ve seen him, probably an hour ago, maybe more. Do you need something? We don’t leave until tomorrow morning.”

Cold dread grips Carver’s heart. He can’t breathe even though he’s just sprinted almost half a mile.

“Are you all right, Carver?”

“I, um…” He tries to get a hold of his breath. “Leaving?”

“High priority mission,” Thom replies. “The assignments won’t be out until tomorrow at lunch, but Taka said word came down and we’d need to be on our way as soon as possible, so we’re going first thing in the morning.”

Carver feels faint. He’s tried to prepare himself for this moment, but there’s no defending against it. “Where are you going?”

“Weisshaupt.” Thom’s bushy eyebrows draw down as his head cocks to the side. “What’s going on? He didn’t tell you? I thought he did. Strange that you aren’t paired up again.”

Fuck, _fuck._ Shit. Of course Taka would run, what else would he do? What the fuck else would Taka do after being driven there by Carver’s own stupidity? 

“He put in for someone else.” Maker, it hurts to say it. Rith’s right about loving Taka; there’s no way it could hurt so much if he didn’t. Carver swallows and tries to ignore the sudden sympathy on Thom’s face. “I have to… I’ve got to talk to him, Thom. Do you know where he went?”

“I’m sorry,” Thom says. “He said he needed some entertainment and would meet me in the morning.”

“Entertainment,” Carver says to himself. “Did he say where? Did he go into town?”

“I’ll wager he did, but he didn’t tell me specifics.”

Carver launches himself at the barn before Thom’s even done speaking. He bulls past a surprised stablehand, feet scraping to a stop in front of Hooty’s stall. It’s empty. From the next stall over Bear sticks out his head, his mouth working around his feed.

“Sorry to disturb your dinner,” Carver says, then raises his voice to holler for the stablehand, demanding that Bear be saddled. Carver would prefer that the saddle magically appear on Bear’s back, as well as the bridle on his head, but shockingly those things take time and the stablehand will need at least a few minutes.

That’s fine, though Carver chafes at the delay. He takes the time to run back to his cabin, grabbing his sword and dagger and some light pieces of armor. He arms himself, tightening up his vambraces and securing his belt as he strides back to the barn. Bear is ready and waiting, and lays his ears back for a second when he sees Carver.

“Ser?” says the stablehand, handing over the reins.

“Which way did Warden Taka go? Did he say anything about where he was going?”

The stablehand shakes his head. “I didn’t speak to him, ser. He tacked up on his own and took the road west towards town.”

Carver wracks his brain once he’s in the saddle. Taka will want someone to distract him for sure. “Which one of the taverns has the prettiest girls?”

“Um…” The stablehand looks up, thinking. “Maybe the Bounty?”

It’s better than nothing, and if all else fails he can try sensing Taka through the Taint. Carver signals to Bear, who starts walking. A second cue has Bear breaking smoothly into a trot. He can leave the compound behind in a matter of minutes at this speed, and be in town before Taka can finish dinner and charm someone into bed.

If he canters then he can make it there even faster. Carver grits his teeth, glancing at the darkening horizon. He’ll feel like a sack of potatoes, but for Taka - for a chance at getting his partner back - Carver will gladly be a sack of potatoes.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs to Bear, touching his heels to Bear’s flanks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update because I just couldn't hold off on posting dorf squad anymore. Rith, I've missed you. Writing this roast of Carver has been one of my favorite things, and one of the most satisfactory as well.
> 
> Comments always welcome! We're about to crest this arc...almost there......


	12. Chapter 12

Taka watches the serving girls light the chandelier, propping his chin on a hand as he traces the rim of his mug idly with a finger. The sun has set outside, cooling the sky to dark blues and purples, but inside it’s warm and coated with firelight from the huge hearth on one end of the common room. The chandelier will help chase the shadows away on the other end.

He doesn’t know what tavern he landed at, and that suits him fine. It’s a good enough establishment, excellent for Ansburg, with reasonable rates for rooms. Taka was pleased to hear his boots thumping across the floor with no trace of the stickiness often found in places that cared less, and even more pleased to find a winter perry on draught at the bar.

Taka picks at the curried stew in front of him, long ago gone cold, then lifts his mug and takes a sip. He isn’t hungry tonight, but he has to go through the motions so that he’ll have energy tomorrow. Tomorrow he and Thom set off on a long and grueling trip with a steep climb at the end, which will be awful for Bear and Hooty. Not for the first time Taka wishes for a gryphon so that he can avoid those foreboding stone steps that stretch up to Weisshaupt.

Well that was certainly not going to happen as the gryphons had died out four hundred years ago, and besides if Taka had a gryphon he’d just fly out from Ansburg and land at Weisshaupt. None of this business with leaving Carver behind and traveling overland with Thom, no need for a partner to guard against hazards on the road. It sounds delightful being able to pick up and go at a moment’s whim, to leave his problems bound to the earth and escape into the clouds. Taka sighs wistfully, then drinks some more.

One of the serving girls approaches his small table; Taka sends her away with a smile, not wanting anyone’s company. Originally Taka had planned for a bit of entertainment and escapism, thinking he’d get a room and a meal and a quick tumble, but as soon as he sat down at the table those desires had deserted him. Only food, then, and the gloom of his own thoughts.

It’s the right thing to do, leaving Carver. Taka had known that for a fact the second Carver hadn’t returned his affections. He had confirmed it while waiting for Carver to figure himself out. Sometimes, Taka thinks, he hates being right about people. 

He frowns. Taka pokes at his stew, imagining slights for which he can impose punishment via fork. He hadn’t said goodbye, and doesn’t plan to. He’d considered it, but discarded the idea once he started experiencing the physical effects of his emotional turmoil. Heart palpitations and an overwhelming urge to find a corner and break down were unacceptable in any situation. Feelings were unacceptable in any situation. Leaving without saying anything was relatively easier and quicker, and Taka preferred the path of least resistance.

Taka takes another drink, congratulating himself on severing his ties with Carver. Now he can be free and get back to his work without thinking about his reaction to Carver’s smiles, or his brazen confidence when squaring up for a fight, shouting taunts across the field. He can be free of all those mornings when Carver’s face is the first thing he sees, and free of Carver’s remarks on how Taka greets his days with cheer.

Indeed, no more Carver means no more awful renditions of “Andraste’s Mabari.” No humming it while walking, and definitely no more instances of Carver standing directly outside his room while he’s abed, stomping and clapping and belting at the top of his lungs. Taka will have peace.

Taka will have peace and quiet for a year or two, and the only time he’ll see Carver is in his dreams.

“Don’t you look lonely tonight?”

Taka sets his mug down and glances up. Before him stands a dark-haired woman with magnetic brown eyes, dressed in leathers that do little to hide the fitness and athleticism of her body. She leans a hip against his table, adjusting her belt so that her knives aren’t in the way. The grips are well-worn, the sheaths plain but with the faint glow that speaks of regular applications of oil. Not a tavern girl, then.

“You tell me,” he replies. He watches her face for a reaction to his accent.

She smiles, catlike. “You look like you’re missing someone.”

Taka’s missing Carver, but he’s not going to offer up that information. If she wants to play, he’ll play. He isn’t one to turn down an opportunity, even if he’s cranky and likely spoiling for a fight. Unenthusiastic sex is still better than no sex. “Are you sure? Seems like you’re here now.”

The smile becomes a grin. “I thought you might be the type. Handsome man like yourself? Do you know how to use that sword of yours?”

Taka preens a little. “Are you asking for a demonstration?”

There’s no chance she’s here on her own. Taka keeps his eyes on hers, but notes the people in his periphery. It’s ridiculously easy to spot them, two men and a woman sitting armored at a long table, their weapons laid beside them. They’re probably a mercenary group, which means they only have a few reasons for making contact. They might want to recruit him, since Taka’s dressed nondescriptly tonight, or the woman wants to take him to bed.

Or they want to pick on him, which would make the entire group stupid seeing as there are enough easy marks in the common room. Then again, he might look like an easy mark without Carver. He’s nowhere near as imposing. It would be a simple matter to lure Taka away from the other patrons and attack him outside.

“Would you be willing to give one?” the woman says, leaning in.

“Private or public?” Taka mirrors her, giving her a little half smile, crinkling the corners of his eyes. He hopes that he’s at a good angle from some light source; he wants his eyes to sparkle.

The woman considers. Behind her, Taka can see her associates paying close attention. “Hmm,” she says finally. “How about private first, and if it’s good we can go public?”

“If it’s good?” He isn’t insulted. “I promise it’ll be good.”

She laughs. “Cocky.”

Taka grasps the hilt of his sword lightly, wrapping his fingers around it, sliding his hand down. “With reason. Might you tell me your name, and your friends’ names?”

“My friends? Jumping to the next step so soon?”

“What can I say?” Taka shrugs, scanning the room as he does so. No one looks particularly in distress, and the general air remains calm. But Taka’s gut tells him otherwise, and he’s always inclined to trust his instincts. “I’m adventurous. Well, maybe not with that guy over there.” He gestures vaguely at an older, rotund man in mail, whose hair has migrated from his head to his chin. “But you never know. Personality makes a big difference, doesn’t it? Maybe he’s beautiful on the inside.”

The woman throws her head back and laughs, but the round man shoves himself back from the table, scowling, a hand on the dagger slung against his hip. “You little shit,” he growls. Around the common room, heads begin to turn.

“So it _is_ true,” Taka muses. “Insult someone and they’ll want to get closer. Do you think he’ll fuck better while angry?”

Half the tavern snickers. Taka takes the time to plan his strategy. The woman has two other friends at the table, both of whom are seated for the moment. It’ll take at least five strides to reach him, which is more time than he needs to pull out his sword. The knife at his side will do for the two directly in front of him. Portly man’s head is unprotected, and the woman’s center of gravity is at his table’s edge. 

Taka reaches out, lifting his mug to his lips. The perry really is quite good.

“I’ll show you fucking!” the man snarls.

Maker, the lack of creativity from other people is so boring. Taka almost rolls his eyes. At least Carver smolders attractively when he’s mad.

“Touchy touchy,” Taka says from behind the rim of his mug, making sure his taunting grin is visible. He stays seated, though he shifts his foot over to the nearest leg of the table. “Though I think that’s what you do to yourself, isn’t it? If it’s possible. However do you find your prick?”

The woman stops Portly with an outstretched arm, her hand slapping against his chest, splaying flat. “Get a hold of yourself, Bez,” she says, curt.

“Yes, Bez,” Taka says sweetly, following it up with an air kiss. “You know - I didn’t catch your name - but if you’re looking for someone for your group, I’m going to suggest replacing Bez if he can’t handle a little mouthiness from a stranger. Even if that stranger is taller, prettier, smarter, and much, much better at swordsmanship.” Taka grins, then bites his lip, pantomiming a masturbatory gesture.

The door to the common room opens, but Taka pays it no mind. He has to stay focused on the knife’s edge of the moment. This is when people walk or fight. It’s in Taka’s best interest not to fight, but he’s left Carver for good and that makes him want to hit something to dull the pain.

“Name’s Lea,” the woman says.

“Wonderful to meet you. I’m Taka. Less wonderful to meet you, Bez. We could have had something, you and I.” He looks up at Lea, staying casual. “Any chance you and I could still…?”

“Not a one,” Lea says as Bez lunges forward.

Taka surges out of his chair, cracking his mug across Bez’s temple and introducing his knife to Bez’s neck. “Don’t move,” he says pleasantly over the drip of perry on the floor. The fruity bouquet of it rises into the air. What a waste. “I figured that would be obvious but it seems like you’re the type that needs everything spelled out. I didn’t come here for a fight -”

“Taka!” someone yells, and Andraste’s fucking tits, it sounds like Carver. “Taka, what the fuck? You’re starting bar fights without me?”

Taka freezes, all else forgotten in a single moment of fear, chills sheeting over him like he’s been dunked in icy ocean surf. He can’t believe his eyes.

But he has to set that aside for right now. “Carver?”

Carver stalks over, his annoyance so apparent that patrons melt out of his path. Considering he could lift any of them over his head with a single arm, Taka doesn’t blame them. “Do you know how hard it was to find you? A bar fight, really?”

“Sweet Maker,” Lea says, shaking her head. “The tall drink of water comes with a side of beef. I’m going to be sad to fight you. Thanks for nothing, Bez.”

“In my defense,” Taka says to Carver, “the fight technically hasn’t started yet. Right Bez?”

“You’ve a knife to the fat man’s throat and there’s beer on his head. What do you mean, it hasn’t started?”

“That’s perry, not beer. I mean they can all choose to walk away right now and I won’t be upset. I’ll forget everything that happened here. Perhaps not Lea because she’s sexy, but definitely Bez.” Taka flashes a grin at Lea. “She should forget about him too. What say you, Lea? You leave me alone and pretend you don’t know me, and Carver and I won’t make a scene?”

“Oh it’s Carver and I now, is it?” Carver says, sarcastic.

Bez chooses that exact moment to grab for Taka, thinking them all distracted. Carver doesn’t spare Bez a glance as he drives his fist into the man’s temple, laying him out so cold his head doesn’t even bounce when it hits the floor.

Taka dances back to avoid Lea’s knives, lifts his foot, and kicks the table into her midsection. The bowl of stew and the fork go flying as Lea stumbles backwards. “Well it would be just me, but you decided to come out here!”

“I needed to talk to you!” Carver sidesteps Lea’s scything arms, puts his shoulder down, and charges at one of her associates. The man hits a wall hard and collapses. “Good thing I found you when I did!”

“I had the situation under control, you ass!” Taka hisses, grabbing his sword. He levels it, thrusting the scabbard point-first into Lea’s upper abdomen. She grunts out of reflex as the air leaves her body, dropping her knives, falling onto her knees, wrapping her arms around her midsection.

“Had it under control, my ass!” Carver fires back. Lea’s other associate attacks with a clumsy, overextended swing, which Carver evades easily. Carver uses the blade of his hand to hit her in the back of the head as she passes, and she too goes down hard. “Four to one?”

Taka glares and steps over Bez’s body, surveying the damage. There aren’t any broken tables or chairs, and the only casualties are the stew on the floor and the mug used as a bludgeon. “I was ready for them.”

“You’re welcome,” Carver sneers, casting dark looks around the common room, his stance one of coiled, explosive readiness. He looms, broadening his stance, occupying every last bit of his six feet and four inches. “Anyone else want to take a shot at my partner?”

No one so much as breathes.

“Good.” Carver stabs a finger in Taka’s direction. “Get your things. We’re leaving.”

“Says who?” Taka pushes back.

“Says me, your partner.” Carver points at the stairs. “Get your things.”

“We are no longer partners. I thought that me leaving you made that clear.”

Carver glares. He’s doing a remarkably good job of staying focused and calm. “I say we’re still partners, and you need to get your things because after what just happened, you’re going to wake up with a shiv in your back.”

He does have a point. “Fine,” Taka says tersely. “I’ll get my pack.”

“No trying to escape out the window either.”

“Thought you’re partners!” one of the patrons chimes in. “Sure you’re not married?”

Carver glares further if possible, and the patron recoils, making herself small.

“We were partners,” Taka corrects the patron. “Were. Past tense. As in we had been and are currently not.”

“Get upstairs,” Carver practically growls at him. Taka, unwilling to talk further, stomps up the stairs to his room.

He snatches up his pack angrily, then glowers at Carver as best he can through the darkness, lit poorly with ambient street light and the weak beams of the single crescent moon. Carver has blocked the exit. “What are you doing? What are you doing _here_?”

“I said I wanted to talk to you.” Carver reaches behind him to bar the door.

“By locking me in? What is wrong with you?” Maker, Taka left the compound precisely so that he wouldn’t have to face Carver.

“If that’s the only way, then yes.” Carver takes a deep breath, then looks at Taka so intently that Taka forgets for a second that he’s upset. “I had a lot to think about, and… I’m ready to give you my answer.”

The floor drops out from beneath Taka’s feet. Figures that there’s no lead-up from Carver. He blinks, his heartbeat rushing suddenly in his ears. There doesn’t exist the possibility of Carver saying yes, but oh, Taka’s heart yearns for it. “I know what your answer is, Carver, you didn’t have to come out here to tell me.”

His eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Do you?”

“I told you not to worry about Ansburg, didn’t I?” Taka takes in a measured breath, lets it out just as carefully. “I remember it vividly. We were two nights out from Markham and you had a sore rump. I said not to worry about Ansburg. I don’t need you to give me a verbal, explicit answer when I already know it’s a no. When everything you’ve done has been a no.”

May he burn on Andraste’s pyre for saying it out loud. Taka swallows and does his best to hold onto his fleeing anger. It’s more useful than the sorrow.

“It’s yes.” Carver looks at him, and it’s hopeful and open and wholly, wholly unexpected.

“Do not fuck with me this way, Carver Hawke.” Taka’s nostrils flare as he takes one step towards Carver, then another. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but it’s not funny and I don’t like it.”

Carver recoils, confounded, his mouth working around a half-spoken _what._ “I’m not playing!”

“Seriously, Carver, get out from in front of the door and leave me be.” Taka can’t take this kind of emotional turmoil, not with hope winging frantically around, banging into the bars of his chest, keeping alive a desire he should have stamped out of existence long ago.

“Taka.” Carver gets out from in front of the door, but does it by closing the distance to him. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“That’s too bad because I want to! Well, I tried to, but you won’t clue in. This is the worst fucking prank, Carver, I swear -” Taka tries to sidestep, but Carver continues to block him as he shuffles from side to side.

“Taka, I have my answer. Taka?” Carver makes a vexed noise as he tries in vain to meet Taka’s eyes. “Taka, stop moving, dammit! I’m trying to tell you something!”

“Keep trying!”

“Why are you - !” Carver’s at the stage where fist-shaking wouldn’t be out of place. “Taka, Maker’s _sake!”_

And then in one swift movement Carver lifts his hands, brings them to Taka’s face, curls his fingers around the back of Taka’s head, and kisses him.

Taka’s eyes go so wide with shock that they ache; he breathes loudly through his nose. He’s incapable of moving, unable to comprehend what’s just happened, unable to react to the sensation of Carver’s lips on his, Carver’s scent so close, the tenderness revealed in Carver’s eyes as he pulls away, letting his hands stay where they are. Andraste help him. Taka is actually trembling.

“It’s yes. I love you,” Carver whispers. Taka’s heart leaps clear out from his chest and bounds around the room, doing twirls. He could vomit. “I’m sorry I couldn’t figure it out sooner. Rith suggested I kiss you to know for sure, and…”

Carver leans forward and kisses Taka again. The gentility of it is enough to shatter him, because this isn’t anything like what Taka’s imagined. Taka thought Carver would be rough and unsophisticated; he thought Carver would kiss the way he fights. He’s thought of hard hands and teeth, those blue eyes blazing with need, the slam of his back against the wall battering away his breath. Taka’s thought of clenched fists and moans muffled into pillows, rocking beds, crescents rising dull red on his skin, and short, sharp jerks.

But no, Carver is _soft_ , restrained, chaste even, and so vulnerable even as their mouths open to each other’s and Taka tastes him for the first time. _Maker,_ Taka thinks, dazed. Carver tastes sweet and yet not, and Taka wants to hold onto this forever, live fully within the press of Carver’s lips against his, the sensual stroke of his tongue, the pure rightness that’s their hands on each other’s faces. It feels as if all eight years of pent-up love rushes out of him, lifting Taka into a space where time falls away, his whole body attuning to Carver’s, humming with the perfection of their kiss.

It’s possible he’s swooning. Surely this is the correct moment for it.

They finally separate, eyes searching each other’s, breaths coming fast with amazement. Taka’s assumed he could die happy with a single kiss from Carver, but now he wants more. Five. A hundred. A thousand. Maker, he’s gone sappy.

“Rith was right,” Carver murmurs, his baritone voice carrying a rasp that walks shivers over Taka’s skin. “I’m sure.” He kisses Taka yet again; Taka moans despite himself. “I’m very sure.”

Taka opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He shuts it with a click, then tries it again with the same result. There are no words to describe his elation, nor his bewilderment.

Carver inhales, closing his eyes, then steps back. “If I had known all it would take to shut you up was a kiss, I would have done that long ago.”

Taka clears his throat, his breeches stretched and incredibly uncomfortable. “Would you really?”

Carver rubs his face, a rueful grin appearing. “No. Maybe. Yes. Maker, I’ve got to reevaluate a lot.”

Taka resists the urge to reach out and lay his thumb over Carver’s smile, to draw him in for another kiss. He has to be sure, after all. Three isn’t enough. “You’ve the time. We’re supposed to be leaving. Won’t do for Lea and her friends to get two birds for the price of one.”

“I’m in no condition to leave.”

“Think about Bez,” Taka suggests. He tries to imagine Bez naked, and it has the intended effect. “With no clothes on.”

“Ugh,” Carver says, making a face. “What’d you do to piss them off? Run your mouth again?”

Taka snorts. “What else? Lea was hitting on me, and all I did was try to ferret out her motives.”

“I can’t believe you were willing to start a bar fight.”

“I felt punchy.” Taka shrugs. He’s halfway back to normal.

“Isn’t that my job?” Carver takes another deep breath, his chest expanding.

“Well, I didn’t have you, so I had to do both the talking and the hitting. Are you ready?”

“Um…no. Keep talking.”

“How about a riddle?”

“Maker no, Taka, I can’t think -”

“What’s heavier, a stone of steel or a stone of feathers?”

“You aren’t going to catch me again even if steel is heavier than feathers. They’re the same.” 

“Another riddle, then.” The more Taka uses his brain, the faster things will return to a quiescent state. “When I was 6, my sister was half my age. Now I’m 70, and -”

Carver groans. “Not that one either!”

“How’s it now?”

“Getting better. Taka, you leave the hitting to me.”

“Difficult when you aren’t around.”

Carver reaches down to re-adjust himself, wiggling comically. “You can’t blame me for not being around. You’re the one who left.”

“Can you -” Taka starts.

“I would too,” Carver continues. “I understand. But that’s also you.” He goes to the door, unlocking it, then checks the looseness of his sword in its sheath.

“It’s a perfectly valid strategy, I’ll have you know.”

“Taka,” Carver says before he opens the door. “Don’t run from me anymore. Don’t start bar fights without me, either.”

Taka sighs. As he passes Carver he gives him a big grin and wink, then floats his way down the stairs and out to the stable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *screams for all eternity*
> 
> COMMENTS? THOUGHTS?


	13. Chapter 13

Taka floats out of the tavern, over to the stables, and levitates himself onto Hooty’s back. Carver follows, a huge dumb grin on his face, not much better off himself. If Carver had to describe Taka’s smile, he’d say it was beatific, shining enough to light their way on the dark dirt road. Taka occasionally nudges Hooty over so he can lay a hand on Carver’s arm as if to reassure himself. After the third time Carver lets go of the reins and takes Taka’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

Taka responds with a smile so bright it crinkles his eyes into crescents. He then pulls his hand from Carver’s, looking away like he’s embarrassed.

“Are you all right?” Carver asks.

“Yeah,” Taka says, shaking his head and sighing. “Yeah. I just can’t believe it.”

“That I love you?” There’s a thrill when he says it, a second thrill when Taka’s face lights up with another smile. “Because I do. I um, kissed you to be sure.” Maker, there it is again. It’s probably because of the kiss; Carver can’t stop thinking about it, and he can’t wait to do it again. If ever there was a perfect kiss, that was it. He’s never had anything even remotely close to it. He hadn’t understood what electricity was until then.

Carver gives Taka all the credit, as Taka’s kissed at least a hundred other people and Carver’s kissed only a fraction of that, and clumsily.

“No,” Taka says. “And yes. I can’t believe I have feelings like this. I didn’t think…” He trails off, then looks up at the sky. “Won’t Divia be surprised?”

“They’ll think it’s a prank if we walk in holding hands tomorrow morning.” Prank or not, it’s tempting. A lot is tempting. Taka’s mouth is tempting.

“She won’t.”

“You told her?”

“I had to in order to get reassigned to Weisshaupt with Thom.”

“You aren’t going anywhere with Thom.” Carver scowls. “Least of all Weisshaupt.”

“Well I’m not going _now,_ ” Taka replies. “I asked her to send you back to Ostwick. I’ll have to speak with her.”

“You told her?” Carver repeats himself. “Who else were you going to tell before me?”

Taka laughs quietly. “I wasn’t going to tell you, so in effect, everyone.”

Carver clenches his teeth for a second, holding back the swell of emotion. “I think we owe Sparrow.”

“I think I know exactly what happened,” Taka says. “And our thanks have to go to Wren, who saw things for what they were and then spoke them to me plainly. If only she’d talked to you as well. Maybe we wouldn’t have had to go through all this rigamarole.”

Carver raises an eyebrow as he looks at Taka, whose face carries a faraway expression and a faint smile. Maker, he’s attractive; Carver’s always thought so on a purely objective basis, though now he has to question how objective he’s been. In the beginning he’d been embarrassed at how often his eyes strayed, but there was no question that Taka was beautifully put together and Carver reasoned that it was simply natural to look and appreciate someone who was obviously divinely created.

But he’s become desensitized to the sight of Taka’s body after so many years of casual semi-nudity. Carver has grown accustomed to Taka’s scent as well, only remarking to himself every so often that Taka smells unfairly, insanely good. Touch, though. They’ve only touched when necessary: cleaning wounds, putting on armor, sharing sleeping space. Taka keeps his hands to himself unless he’s taking someone to bed, and Carver respects Taka’s space.

Carver hadn’t counted on touch to stir his desire as strongly as it has, but that was before the kiss.

“What’s next, then?” he asks.

Taka scrubs his hand through the base of Hooty’s mane. “Go back, put up the horses, pilfer the kitchen, take a bath, and go to bed. In that order.” Carver sees the sly cut of Taka’s eyes. “You’re welcome to join me for the last two.”

Carver hesitates for a second. Mutual bathing isn’t anything new for the two of them, but the bed is something else. Even if they’ve already shared a bed countless times and woken to each other. Taka’s a blanket stealer, but he denies it.

Taka reads the pause correctly. “Carver. We don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with. Remember the rules?”

Of course he does. “They apply to me?”

Taka grows serious, his eyes finding Carver’s and holding them. “They apply to you more than anyone else. The last thing I want to do is force you. We go at your pace. I’ve spent plenty of time waiting, and waiting more won’t kill me. And if that waiting means never, that’s still fine. It’s enough having you here.”

It isn’t enough, not when they kiss like they’re drowning, and the waiting _will_ kill him. Carver grits his teeth again, bitterness rising in his throat. “I’ll join you,” he says. “For both. You may not get my laughter, though.”

Something about Taka shifts and softens, drops away. Taka looks at him, gentle and luminous, and Carver finds himself struck by the affection written plainly on his face. Taka’s lips curve upward. “I’ll settle for your beautiful smile.”

Carver almost gives it to him before he catches himself and scowls.

“You’re going to have to get used to compliments, Carver. I’ve held back a lot for you. And I know how much you thrive on them.” Taka’s smile quirks into a devilish grin.

“You’ve held back a lot, you say?”

“Oh, tons.”

“How much?”

“More than I can count, darling.” Taka’s grin widens. Flirting’s as instinctive as breathing for him, the ass.

“How long?”

Taka laughs. “Do you really want to know?”

In a way Carver doesn’t because he’d regret all the time wasted. On the other hand… “I do. I want to know how long I’ve had you in difficulty.”

“So you can gloat over having the upper hand?”

“Precisely that.”

Carver senses Taka gathering himself. “Are you ready for this?”

“Yeah.”

“As far as I can figure?” Taka huffs softly, then smiles, rueful. “About eight years.”

In shock, Carver grips the reins, though they won’t prevent him from falling off. He gets a handful of Bear’s mane instead, the world swimming around him. “Eight...eight years? Eight fucking years, Taka, what the fuck?”

Taka nods as if he hasn’t just revealed something world-shattering. “Eight years, give or take.”

“Fuckin’...” Carver takes a deep breath, regretting his decision to ask. “Andraste’s fucking tits, Taka, you waited eight years? We could have - Maker, we could have -” He can’t articulate himself. The emotions are too strong, binding his tongue in his mouth.

“You have to understand, Carver,” Taka says, kneeing Hooty over until they’re close enough for their boots to touch. Taka twists in the saddle and reaches out, cupping Carver’s cheek, his thumb moving over it in a caress. It’s a new gesture for Taka, but at the same time it feels practiced, like he’s done this hundreds of times over the years. Carver melts at the tenderness of it.

Taka pulls away. “You must understand that I thought you didn’t feel the way I did. At first I thought it would go away, but it didn’t, and to preserve our partnership I thought it necessary never to tell you until I was about to meet my death, if I were lucid enough for it. I knew you’d go down to the Deep Roads with me, and the plan was to tell you as the doors were closing.” He pauses, contemplative. “Ah, my biggest fear, with me to the very end. That was a terrible idea.”

Carver isn’t sure if he wants to punch Taka or cry. “You’re a colossal idiot,” he grates out. “You fucking imbecile, Taka. If you did that - if you did that, I’d rip the doors off their hinges and find you and punch you in the face for being stupid.”

Taka laughs, his face flung skyward. “That’s strangely gratifying! What if I were already dead?”

Carver has to growl his words. “Then I’d tear the Veil with my bare hands, go into the Fade, find the Maker, punch him until he let you come back to life, _then_ punch you in the face for being a fucking idiot.”

“Priorities, Carver. You wouldn’t put him back in the Golden City and restore his creation?”

“He wasn’t with me the last ten years, and he didn’t have plans to be a complete fuckwit.”

“Carver,” Taka starts.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Carver says, cutting Taka off. “Of all the dumb ideas you’ve had -”

“Carver,” Taka says more firmly. “Look at it this way. We’ll at least have something together versus not having anything at all.”

Carver raises his voice. “I just found out and there isn’t enough - Taka, what were we doing? I want more than a year or two!”

“Well,” Taka says, dry and self-deprecating, “you might not feel the same by the end.”

“You little shit!”

“Oh hey now, we’re the same height.”

“I’m taller! What is _wrong_ with you?” 

“Nothing.” Taka’s somehow the picture of serenity. “Absolutely nothing. I’m not going to let my limited time ruin my happiness. That we’re having this conversation is something I didn’t think I’d have a chance of experiencing. Carver, I’m _happy_ , you have no idea, I don’t even understand it fully right now. I refuse to be prematurely sad over something I never thought I’d have.”

“Taka -”

“No,” Taka says, his turn to cut Carver off. “Save the grieving for when I’m actually dead. Tonight I have plans. I’m going to get back, take care of the horses, eat, get myself clean, and then, Carver Hawke, I am going to fuck your brains out, you and the Maker willing.”

Carver looks down, silent and a little aroused. If the kiss was that good, he can’t imagine what being fully intimate would be like. After a moment he says, “All right, but what if I don’t -”

“Then you can fuck _my_ brains out,” Taka says succinctly, “and that’s that.”

*** *** ***

Taka comes awake little by little, his consciousness pushing up and through the gray haze of sleep, dark whispers and a faint song on the edge of his hearing. There are no dreams today, only a sluggish, leaden weight that’s surrounded his bones and keeps them from moving quickly. It isn’t the paralysis at least, and Taka’s thankful.

He turns his head, keeping his eyes half-lidded to ward away the sunlight coming in solid streaks from between the slats of the blinds. Taka remembers exactly what happened last night, but part of him still can’t believe it and he has to keep pinching himself to make sure it’s real. Carver, smile lit with the reflection of candles in the bathhouse pool. Carver, every one of his kisses as intoxicating as the last. Carver, groaning as Taka knelt and murmured praises into flesh, hands and mouth bent to him in exaltation. Carver, his chin tipped up and fingers scraping over Taka’s scalp, the sound of Taka’s name dissipating in the steam as Taka swallowed him down.

And that was just in the bathhouse.

Carver lies on his back beside Taka, the angles of his face painted with golden light. Despite the chill he sleeps with the covers pushed halfway down his chest, as peaceful as Taka’s ever seen him.

Maker, it’s real, and the joy is overwhelming.

Taka isn’t one for intimacy or affection, but this is Carver, who he’s been in love with for the better part of a decade. This is Carver, who Taka hopes he’ll spend the rest of his short life with, whose face will be the last thing he sees before the great stone doors of Orzammar seal him into the Deep Roads. There’s no sense in holding back. Besides, he’s wanted to do this for years.

He lifts himself up on one elbow, leans over, and brushes his lips over Carver’s cheek. When Carver doesn’t stir, Taka repeats the motion on his exposed shoulder, then Carver’s forehead.

Taka bites his lip, trying not to laugh out loud at himself. Of course Carver’s not waking up. He always sleeps deeply after sex. Taka can’t believe he’s forgotten it even for a minute.

He retreats to his side of the bed, propping his head up on his hand to watch Carver, though with the two of them the bed is crowded and Taka doesn’t so much retreat as move two inches. This is all new for him: waking up to a warm body in bed, though he and Carver have shared bed space aplenty; wanting to cover Carver’s face in kisses; trying to keep himself in one piece as a wave of happiness rises up and crashes down upon him. Staying the night, Andraste have mercy. His entire life Taka has avoided being around in the morning, and for the last decade his excuse has been returning to Carver’s side.

The excuse still holds up: he’s here with Carver. Taka can’t stop smiling. Oh, to love and be loved in return is wondrous, so wondrous that he isn’t sure why he ever was so afraid of it. He’s filled with such elation that if birds landed on the cabin, they’d immediately burst into song. Perhaps flowers are blooming beneath the windows. Outside it’s winter, but inside it’s spring and the bed is warm and Carver is beyond delightful and Taka actually wants to turn cartwheels and caper about.

Taka drops his face into his hand and laughs at himself for being so giddy, his shoulders shaking. “I love you,” he whispers to Carver once he’s collected himself. Taka hasn’t dared do it before, scared it might lead to something he couldn’t control, or worse yet, that it would lead to something that could be taken away. He kisses Carver’s shoulder again, closing his eyes for a moment to inhale Carver’s irresistible, addictive scent. “I love you,” Taka whispers again, “and I’ll be right back.”

Reluctantly he slips out of bed, gathering clothes and weaving past the weapons on the floor. He stops by the hearth to drop a log onto the fire, bending down to coax up a flame, then goes to the washroom to clean up and perform ablutions. Partway through he hears, “Taka?”

He leans out, a toothbrush in his mouth. “Mmm?”

Carver’s gorgeously disheveled, sitting up in bed with the covers artfully bunched around his waist, his hand covering the side of his face. The only things he wears are a ridiculous scowl and the mantle of sleep draped heavily over stooped shoulders.

He’s adorable. 

“Taka?” Carver calls out again, voice slurred. “Maker, _fuck._ ”

Taka spits and rinses quickly, hurrying from the washroom. “I’m here,” he says, returning to the bed, where Carver cracks open a bleary eye. Taka clambers back on, kneeling next to Carver.

“You’re here.”

“Yes.” Definitely not completely awake yet. A satisfactory smile stretches over Taka’s lips. “Lie down, Carver.”

He does so with a rustle and a flop, jostling Taka on the bed. It’ll take him another ten minutes or so to rouse fully, but once Carver’s awake he generally doesn’t go back to sleep. The most he’ll manage is a light doze.

“You’re here,” Carver repeats once Taka slides under the covers, pulling them up and over his shoulders. 

“I am.” Taka follows the contour of Carver’s gloriously muscled arm down to his fingertips, and laces his own between them. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Must be…” Carver turns onto his side, eyes closed, facing Taka. “Must be strange.”

“A little,” Taka admits. “You’re the first I’ve stayed for.”

A small smile graces Carver’s lips. “I know.”

“You’ve been keeping track, have you? How long have _you_ had feelings?”

Carver’s eyes open, the blue of them stunning in their intensity. “I don’t have to keep track. You come back before morning every time.”

“I came back to you every time. You just didn’t know it.”

“I think I did.” Carver squeezes Taka’s hand. “Deep down I must have known it wasn’t because of a sense of duty or partnership.”

“At first it was.”

They gaze at each other, taking in the new situation. Eventually Carver says, “When did you know?”

Taka frees his hand from Carver’s, putting it to his cheek briefly. He would linger, but he holds back out of habit. Taka scolds himself, and puts his hand back on Carver’s cheek. “I can’t put a date on it. It happened slowly, and one day...I just knew.”

Carver covers Taka’s hand with his own. He shifts, drawing closer, and kisses Taka softly. Taka doesn’t want to admit how that makes him feel, so he deepens the kiss, his heart aching. He’s always wanted to know if Carver had a gentle side he’d show only to lovers; all of Carver’s previous partners had been quite fond of him. _Sweet boy,_ they’ve called him. Taka remembers mocking him after one encounter where Carver’s lover had sent him out the door with a fully packed lunch.

“Sweet boy,” Taka murmurs.

Carver snorts quietly, then kisses him.

It’s marvelous. Taka makes a small sound in his throat, thrilling to the touch of Carver’s lips, the feel of his skin as they slide their arms around each other and hold each other close. It’s so marvelous that Taka has to reassess all his previous experience. Things have been good, and even great, but this, this chemistry, this connection with Carver and the intensity and the way his whole body swells with joy, it eclipses everything else. When Taka thinks he could kiss Carver forever, he means it. Taka could stay in bed the rest of his life with Carver’s chest against his and lips pressed together and that smile that gives Taka the strength to do anything. That sounds a million times better than the alternatives, honestly. He’d take having Carver’s scent in his skin and Carver’s hand curled around his cock over everything else, including being nestled in the Maker’s bosom.

Carver’s just as aroused as he is. He groans when Taka wraps his fingers around him and pumps lazily. “Taka…”

Taka grins at the way Carver says his name. “Yes?”

Carver kisses him instead, and Taka falls headlong into it, letting himself be swept into the rush. “Round two?” Carver asks, and Taka laughs breathlessly because it wouldn’t be round two, it’d be more like round three or four or whatever the count is. He’s lost track. Grey Warden stamina, indeed. 

Taka lets go and grabs a handful of Carver’s ass, biting his lip as his fingers dig in. He pulls Carver against him, thrusting as he does so. “Luscious,” Taka murmurs. “Sweet Maker, I can’t get enough of you.”

There’s another kiss, and a moment where Taka has to stop and breathe because Carver’s taken both of them into his hand. It’s ridiculously hot the way they feel together, and it’s really quite unfair how sexy Carver looks when he stretches up and away on a swell of pleasure, revealing the underside of his jaw and a long expanse of neck that just begs for Taka’s teeth.

Taka almost doesn’t hear the knocking at the door despite the fact that the cabin is small and comprises only a bedroom and a washroom. Rather, he hears it but ignores it, because Carver’s hard against him and Taka’s too enthralled with how easy it is to nudge Carver’s shoulder and roll him onto his back.

“Should we get that?” Carver whispers when the person knocks again, louder this time. 

“No,” Taka replies, leaning down to claim Carver’s mouth.

“TAKA!” Thom hollers through the door.

Taka disengages with a start, hissing. “Fucking shit! How does he know?”

Carver puts a hand over his eyes, his cheeks reddening, and starts laughing. “Maker, fuck! Rith.”

“Taka, I know you can hear me. Aren’t we supposed to be leaving?”

“Taka’s, um… Taka’s not here!” Carver calls out.

Taka climbs off to shove his head into a pillow, muffling his cackle. “Leave the lying to me, Carver!”

“It was fine!” Carver whispers fiercely.

“It was not fine!” Taka returns, also whispering. He’s so hard it almost hurts, and he knows how that affects...mental things. “I know you can’t think well right now, and yes that’s a compliment!”

“Bullshit!” Thom yells back. 

Taka laughs harder.

“He really isn’t!”

Carver’s a lamb for trying. Taka sucks down a breath, tears starting in his eyes.

“Taka’s cabin is empty but his horse is here, you both didn’t show up for dinner last night, the stablehand said both of you rode out and came back, you talked to Rith right before, and Taka was nowhere to be found this morning.” Thom sounds reasonable even while delivering his lines in what amounts to a controlled roar. “So stop lying and open the door! If you’re decent.”

“I’m not!”

Taka hits Carver on the chest. “Give it away, why don’t you?”

Carver pushes himself up with a glare, then gets his feet on the floor and stands. “He already knows. Maker, it’s cold.”

“Better that way,” Taka says, smirking, filling his eyes with the sight of Carver’s erection. The things he would do. “What a shame, though.”

“I have to pee anyway.” Carver strides to the door and speaks through it. “Thom?”

“Yes?”

“Is Rith out there too?”

A bark of gravelly laughter answers him. “Maybe.”

Rith’s voice comes through next. “Carver, you took my advice!”

Carver covers his mouth, coughing. “Maybe I did! We’ll meet you at the lodge, all right?”

“I’m afraid that won’t be necessary,” Thom says after he’s done guffawing. “Warden-Commander Divia is here too.”

Taka swears loudly. “I’m sorry, Divia!”

“There he is!” Thom exclaims. Taka can tell he’s speaking to someone behind him next. “Taka’s in there.”

Divia’s voice, cool as the weather, comes through. “Get dressed, both of you. I’ll see you in my office.”

Carver peeks through the blinds as they leave. “Fuck me! The Orlesian tagged along. Is there anyone who doesn’t know?”

“Probably not, by this point.” Taka remains lying in bed. “Go clean up and get yourself taken care of, and then come back to bed so you can get more taken care of.”

Carver turns to look at him, and Andraste be praised, the musculature of his back and rear is magnificent, mabari tattoo notwithstanding. Taka leers, then strokes himself through the sheets. The things he would _do._

“Commander just told us to meet her in her office. Taka - Taka, are you…?”

Taka arches under his own hand, throwing Carver a sultry look. “I highly doubt she’ll come back to chase us out of here. If she does, she’s welcome to join us. She isn’t unattractive.” Taka puts his other hand behind his head, elbow falling to the side, and grins. “Drop another log on the fire, would you? And then come back to bed so we can finish what we started.”

“You’re shameless, Trevelyan.” 

It’s true. He is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, screw the schedule, I do what I want.
> 
> Comments, flames, angry screeching, and complaints always welcome.


	14. Chapter 14

“One day, Carver, you’re going to learn what a shield is good for, and that’s going to save you a lot of work.” Taka dips a clean-ish rag into a bowl of spring water, then wipes it gently over Carver’s skin from his right knuckles to his elbow.

Carver grits his teeth against the pain, glad that there’s enough of a lull to allow Taka to care for his wound before the ichor causes his skin to bubble and form boils. “I killed the thing, didn’t I?”

“You did.” Taka takes a second pass, then squints to inspect his work. “Running into spit to put your sword through the spider’s head, though? Why didn’t you wait for me to shoot it first?”

“You were shooting the babies.”

“If you waited but a moment, I’d have shot the mother as well.”

“She was getting ready to jump on you.”

Taka sighs, exasperated. “I know, I saw. I heard your shout. The next shot would have found her eyes, and you would have had a clear path.”

“You could just say thank you.” 

Taka narrows his eyes at him. “What’s wrong?”

It’s possible Carver might have been overprotective in their first skirmish post-Ansburg. “Nothing. I thought she had a good chance of scoring a hit on you, so I attacked first.”

“Carver,” Taka sighs, “how many corrupted spiders have we taken care of in our lives? Don’t answer that, it’s rhetorical. We’ve killed too many of these things to make mistakes now.” He shifts to the side, still holding Carver’s arm, and rummages around in his medicine pouch for salve. “We haven’t seen fighting since the new year. As your partner I expect all of the same things I expected of you before. Which includes not flinging strategy aside for creatures we could kill in our sleep.”

Carver can’t help it; his mind strays on the word _sleep._ He and Taka have had limited opportunities to sleep together, but when they do, that’s all Carver wants. Taka has been so utterly patient with him, so respectful, Maker, so _loving_ Carver can hardly believe it. Carver goes willing and pliant to bed, and Taka coaxes laughter from him as easily as he does mind-blanking, heavy-limbed release. For the night Carver can pretend there’s no death hovering over them, no Taint scouring the life out of their bodies. What they have is the immediacy of each other, the nearness of desire flowering hot beneath their skins, the affirmation of hands and mouths and gasps of pleasure. 

In the morning, though, that’s when the illusion comes crashing down. Carver’s learned quickly to tell the difference between Taka being half-asleep and Taka suffering an attack, and that’s on account of Taka having them about every other day.

Taka’s told him not to grieve the living, but sometimes all Carver can think about is how he’ll mourn. He’s lost too many people in his life.

“Carver.” Taka snaps his fingers in front of his face rudely. “Carver, pay attention.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’m not a dog.” Carver scowls. “You could stand to treat me better, you know.”

“Don’t I already?” To prove his point Taka lathers on the salve, then wraps a bandage around Carver’s arm, tying a crisp knot.

“You just didn’t. You don’t snap your fingers like that in front of people.”

Taka stays silent, putting his hand into his pouch, retrieving a stoppered vial of elfroot potion. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Open your mouth.”

Carver does so, and Taka squeezes a dropperful of potion onto Carver’s outstretched tongue. Carver swallows as quickly as he can, grimacing. Aeveth’s potions taste the best out of all the potions he’s had, but no amount of sweetness can mask the bitterness of the herb. At least her potions are extra concentrated, which cuts down on the amount they have to carry.

“You’re apologizing?”

Taka’s hands slow, then still. He lifts his head, no trace of mockery or humor in his eyes. “I am. You’re right. That was disrespectful.”

Suspicion makes Carver narrow his eyes. Taka’s always a step ahead, always angling for something else, and Carver’s been the butt of his jokes too many times to take things at face value. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“No teasing, no insults, no ‘I’m sorry, but,’ that’s it?”

“Truly. I’ve nothing to hide from you anymore. It isn’t necessary to keep you annoyed with me.”

Carver stays seated, flabbergasted. A less contentious relationship with Taka, his love, _and_ a regular bed partner? “I could get used to this.”

A snort, then a sad smile from Taka. He leans over to kiss Carver on the cheek. “Don’t.”

Carver stares after him, his heart in pieces. Taka picks up an ichor-spattered vambrace and walks it over to the stream to rinse it off.

He hasn’t recovered by the time Taka comes back. “I’m afraid you’ll need a new set,” Taka says, frowning, as if he hasn’t struck Carver a mortal blow. Taka turns the vambrace over as he inspects it. The leather underside is withered, and the steel on top bears pits and scores. “At least it did its job. You can borrow mine until we’re back in town. No more running into sprays of acid, all right?”

“I just wanted to protect you,” Carver says, voice small. Damn Taka and his ability to wall off his feelings.

“I don’t need any more protection than you’ve provided me these last ten years, Carver.”

Carver would beg to differ, except he knows Taka’s right. Taka can’t be protected against the effects of the Taint more than anyone else, and the knowledge galls him. “All right,” Carver says finally. 

Taka smiles and lays a hand on Carver’s shoulder. It’s meant to be reassuring. “Trust in what we have. It hasn’t let us down yet. And it won’t ever.” 

Bloody Maker, Taka’s unnerving when he’s serious. If he had felt like it, Carver’s sure he could have risen high in the ranks. Warden-Commander Takaleth Trevelyan has a certain ring to it. Lord Takaleth Trevelyan, Commander of the Grey. That would have brought his family pride, and set him outside the shadow of his sister. But Taka hates responsibility even more than he hates emotions, and he’s never cared about making a name for himself the way Carver has. Or so he’s said after meetings with Divia.

Carver nods, unable to say anything else.

And then Taka gets an unfocused look, his head turning towards a moss-furred outcropping of rock overhanging the cave in which the spider made her lair. “Get the vambrace out of my pack,” he says, pivoting to face the corpse of a baby spider. An arrow juts up from its head. “We have a few minutes to ready ourselves. They’re traveling fast. Might be an alpha with them, but the group is small. We’ll pin them down as they come out of the cave.”

Taka strides over to the spider and yanks the arrow from it, inspecting the head and shaft. Then he looks up at the sky, squinting. “Wrong angle to blind them. Ah, well.” He goes to the next spider.

Carver does as he’s told, frowning. He can barely detect the darkspawn, and wouldn’t have noticed until later. “You can feel them?”

“I can hear them, yes.” Taka jogs to the next spiderling, pulls out the arrow, then scowls and flings it into the forest litter. “But I was expecting them anyway. The deep mushrooms in the cave are fresh.”

There’s only one conclusion Carver can come to, and that’s the Taint strengthening in Taka. Carver swallows down the lump in his throat and laces on the vambrace, then picks up his sword. “Shall we give them the Legionnaire Special?”

“Ol’ Reliable.” Taka goes to his pack, opening a different satchel, and extracts two flasks, one larger than the other. “How’s your aim today?”

“Not as good as yours,” Carver says, “but it’ll do.” He accepts the smaller flask from Taka, then selects a spot close enough to the entrance where he won’t miss. Taka uncorks the greaser, upending its contents over the ground, spreading the accelerant across the threshold of the cave before re-corking and re-stowing it.

Carver’s skin crawls, a sure sign that darkspawn are nearby. Goosebumps tighten over his shoulders when he hears the song, as if someone’s traced a feather as lightly as possible over his skin. If he can sense them then they can sense him as well, which means they’ll be drawn out for certain. He leans his sword against his left shoulder and hefts the vial of liquid fire, glancing to Taka, who’s jogging to a position farther away, his bow and his two salvaged arrows in his left hand, his right pulling the peace tie from his sword. Once he’s set his feet partway behind a tree he flips the catch on his quiver and opens the lid.

The darkspawn appear not long after, their inhuman grunts and tromping feet announcing their presence before Carver can get a good visual. The second he sees dark shapes approaching the mouth of the cave he lobs the flask at the ground. There are plenty of dead leaves, which should provide excellent kindling.

The area catches fire at the exact moment the darkspawn exit, their formation disintegrating as flames lick up their feet. Carver doesn’t see the first arrow, only the reaction of the hurlock as the arrow strikes. The hurlock squeals, losing its footing, crashing into the others as it contorts and convulses in sudden pain, sending two other hurlocks to their knees.

One of the darkspawn leaps back, and in that moment Carver sees that it’s an alpha, as Taka guessed. Killing the hurlock alpha will be his job as soon as Taka’s done with the others. Carver flexes his right hand, bandaged down to the knuckles, loosens his neck, and slides his claymore off his shoulder.

The next arrow Taka fires is a killshot, unlike the first, which was meant only to wound and distract. It sprouts from the neck of another hurlock, driving it to the ground; a third arrow follows, pinging off the helmet of the last hurlock. Taka makes the correction immediately, sending an arrow into the hurlock’s chest.

Despite being on fire and half dead, the darkspawn charge Taka. Carver’s breathing hitches faster even as he suppresses the surge of fear, telling himself not to worry when he hasn’t before. Taka holds his ground coolly, his rhythm unbroken as two hurlocks and an alpha shamble towards him. Carver springs into action at the sight of their backs, shouting to gain their attention as he sprints towards the group, his sword flashing outward in a silver arc that cleaves one of the darkspawn in two. The return swing severs the leg of the other at the knee.

The alpha snarls at Carver, bringing its sword to bear, its rheumy eyes narrowing with focus, weeping suddenly with black, viscous fluid. The clash of blades meeting blocks out the frothing bubble of music in his mind. Carver blows the alpha’s guard wide open with brute strength and steps through, his sword puncturing the top of the alpha’s chest, punching out the other side. With a roar and a backstep he rips his sword out, flowing straight into a downward slash that takes the alpha’s head and half a shoulder off. The body stands, twitching, before the knees give out, sending it crashing to the forest floor.

The hurlock whose leg Carver cut off tries to crawl away, but it’s futile. Carver kicks it in the face, beheading it after it collapses to the ground. Blood spurts, and Carver hops aside, wrinkling his nose at the smell of dying darkspawn. “Ugh, the stench. Sorry Hurley number three, we can’t let you go anywhere. The fire’s already started, and you’ve a reservation.”

Carver eyes his bloodstained blade with distaste. “We’ll have to tell the villagers to avoid this spot. Maybe we can get some spores from those deep mushrooms, help clean the Taint from the ground. What do you think, Taka?”

No response. Carver turns, seeking his lover. “Taka?”

Taka pushes himself upright using the trunk of the tree, visibly shaken. Carver drops his sword like it’s a live snake and rushes over, the worry from earlier rearing up into his throat. “Taka, where did they get you? I didn’t see you take a hit at all!”

“I didn’t,” Taka manages, his complexion ashen, dark eyes glassy in a way that changes Carver’s worry into unadulterated fear. Wesley had that same look as the sickness overcame him. “The alpha… did you hear it, Carver? It tried to control us the way it controls the lesser darkspawn.”

Carver shakes his head as he takes Taka’s face into his hands, turning him one way and the other, eyes straining for any sign of blackened veins and unnatural shadow. “I didn’t hear it,” he replies, clipped.

“Must have just been me, then.”

“Taka -”

“I’ll be alright. It’s passing.” Taka takes a deep breath. “It was just a shock, is all. I’ve read accounts of other wardens having similar reactions. Some paralysis.”

“That was an alpha, not an archdemon.” The dullness clears from Taka’s eyes as Carver speaks, but Carver feels no relief. “You said you had time, Taka.”

“I maintain that I do. Now that I know what they’re capable of, I can ready myself for it. They won’t catch me off guard again.” Taka reaches up a hand and curls his fingers around Carver’s wrist.

Carver kisses Taka fiercely on the lips, then lets him go, not having the words for his emotions. He’s scared and upset and concerned, and there’s nothing to say.

“Sweet boy,” Taka murmurs the way he does when they’re wrapped up in each other, which puts a dagger through Carver’s chest. In a year it’s possible he won’t hear that again. Less than a year. The progression of Blight sickness is incredibly individual.

“Let’s burn these bodies, shall we?” Taka says as if his life isn’t being threatened. “And then let’s try the deep mushroom idea, which is quite excellent. Good thinking, Carver. I hope it works.”

Carver vacillates between being pleased at the praise and fretting over the progression of Taka’s illness. But he keeps his mouth shut, helping Taka drag the bodies over to the fire, scooping up leaves and twigs for kindling and pouring more grease on. He sits down to clean his sword while Taka searches the area for deep mushroom spores.

He’s sliding his sword into the scabbard when Taka returns, a bundle of small, glowing blightcaps held carefully in his gloved hands. Taka walks over to the blood-soaked ground, digs a shallow trench with his boot, drops the mushrooms in, then partially covers them with dirt. He adds a spiderling corpse on top, arranging the legs just so for presentation. “That’s it, I suppose,” he says, stooping to scour his gloves with dirt, patting off as much as he can. “I’ll get the report to Divia started tonight, and we can find a town with a rookery tomorrow.”

“Can we go into town tonight?” Carver asks.

Taka glances at him. “Desperate for a new vambrace, are you? I don’t think the armorsmiths here produce work fine enough for you. I don’t even think they have an armorsmith here. It’s too remote.”

In truth, Carver’s completely forgotten. “No, I’d rather sleep in a real bed tonight than on the ground an armspan away from darkspawn blood.”

Taka grins. His color’s back to normal, and the sparkle has returned to his eyes. “Carver, I would never let you do that. You can sleep _two_ armspans away from the darkspawn blood.”

“I just want…” Carver starts. He wants the fit of Taka’s body beside his and the comfort of his warmth. “I don’t feel like taking a watch tonight.”

A small sigh. “We’re so deep in the Vimmarks the village won’t even have an inn. The best they can do is a spare room somewhere, or someone will give up their house to us. The worst they can do is a shack or a stall. Wouldn’t you rather be out here?”

“They’ll want to accommodate us,” Carver argues. “We just cleared out the spider and her brood, and a group of darkspawn that would have raided everything in the area and made ghouls of anyone unlucky enough to cross them.”

“That’s true,” Taka says, lips pursing in thought. 

Carver keeps pushing, appealing to Taka’s vanity. “I bet they’ll be very grateful. Very.”

“You think?” A smile spreads over Taka’s face. “Didn’t see anyone that struck my fancy there, though. Besides, I’m reformed. I don’t do that anymore.”

“Maker, I meant they’d feed us and tell you how wonderful you are.” Carver rolls his eyes.

“You lamb,” Taka chuckles. “I don’t need anyone to tell me how wonderful I am. I already do that myself. You’re the one who craves it. I’m sure they’ll praise you as well. How could they not?” Taka bites his lip, then winks. “Those muscles of yours? So burly! How dashing you look in your armor? Those blue eyes, that smolder! Oh, how hearts will flutter.”

“You’re the worst.”

“I am. You know, neither one of us took any vows of exclusivity. Might be someone there for you tonight. I see!” Taka claps once, delighted. “This is why you want to be in town.”

Carver knows Taka’s teasing him, but he doesn’t have the heart to be a good sport. “The only someone for me is you, Taka.”

Taka ughs. “You are a bottomless pit of sweetness. I wouldn’t be upset if you went off with someone else for the night.”

“I would be at myself.” Carver watches as Taka brightens. “I want to be in town so we can be together tonight instead of trading watches.”

“Even if nothing happens? Villages like this make it difficult to be discreet.”

“Even if nothing happens. Taka, it isn’t just about sex.” Carver doesn’t know how to say he wants to hold Taka until the end of time without it sounding too cheesy.

“I know. It’s just the easiest to talk about. Habit and all.”

“So we’re going to town, then?”

Taka laughs quietly. “I suppose so, at your insistence.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in the last arc of this, now! Gotta drive towards that ending.
> 
> Coffee and comments sustain me, and kudos are never turned away.


	15. Chapter 15

There is no inn as expected, but the mayor shares her family’s dinner and gives them a room, which is generous for late winter when the stores are running down. Taka politely declines the offer of a second bedroom, saying he and Carver don’t want to impose more than they already are, and that he’ll be fine sleeping on the floor, or perhaps that should be Carver considering how his feet will stick out from the end of the bed. Carver shakes his head at Taka and walks away, muttering under his breath as the mayor’s family laughs. 

Taka spies Carver later on giving the mayor’s young son a ride on his shoulders, pretending to whack the child’s head on the doorframe. Carver ducks at the last second, exaggerating the motion with a comical whoop as he passes through. The child screams with laughter as Carver turns and takes off at a loping jog for the next low doorway.

As warm as Taka’s heart is at Carver’s display, he’s exhausted, and excuses himself early. He smiles to himself as he thinks of the simple joy on Carver’s face, climbing up plain but solid stairs to a small room with a surprisingly large bed. He must test the softness by lying on it, obviously, so he does, flopping face down with a loud _whump_.

Taka wakes to a dark expanse of sky freckled with bright stars. Outside the window both moons are visible, one hanging pregnant and curved, the other waning from full. He pushes himself up stiffly in the chilled air, the sun’s warmth long gone from timber and stone, yawning so wide his jaw cracks. 

He gets the fire started in the hearth, huddling next to it, cheering on the flames as they chew on kindling and wood. Though he’s napped it feels as if he’s had no rest at all; another face-splitting yawn overtakes him as he’s unbuttoning his undershirt, standing so close to the hearth that he’s in danger of catching fire.

Taka reaches behind himself to pull the shirt over his head, draping it over his arm as he goes to a stand on which rests an ewer of water, a bowl, and a small stack of washcloths. Taka sniffs his shirt, sticking out his tongue in distaste, then balls it up and tosses it in the general direction of his pack. 

He’s partway through a bracing cleaning when he hears two soft knocks on the door. “Taka?” Carver calls out.

“Come in,” Taka responds. He’s decent enough in his smalls.

Carver opens the door and enters, then shuts it behind him.

“Did everything go well?”

“Yeah. Told a few bedtime stories to the kids, nothing too scary. Mayor says there’s some wood that’ll make nice arrowshafts. You’re welcome to use it.” 

“That’s kind of them, and much appreciated.” Taka puts his washcloth down, plucks a fresh one off the stack, wets it, wrings it out, and leaves it on the stand for Carver to use when he’s finished undressing.

“You left early,” Carver says, pausing to take off his tunic. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I was just tired.” Taka meets Carver’s skeptical look and sends it right back. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m your partner, I should be worrying about you. Was it the alpha? It shouldn’t have been able to affect you that way.”

“I don’t want to discuss it, Carver.” Taka doesn’t need any convincing; he already knows. “Be my lover instead,” he wheedles, “and come to bed with me.”

“That isn’t any better,” Carver says, approaching Taka, pulling him in for a quick kiss on the forehead. “I worry just the same, and I get a dose of frustration on top of it.” Carver’s more affectionate than Taka’s ever expected, and that’s been something to which Taka’s needed to adjust. With nothing stopping him Carver’s allowed himself little touches and check-ins, and while Taka isn’t the most fond of his partner’s need for assurance, he’s getting used to it. It isn’t intolerable, the quick hand holds and kisses, the lingering stares, the pleasure stolen in the forest amongst the rustling of leaves.

“How’s your arm?” Taka asks, changing the subject. “See, I can worry about you too.”

Carver picks up the washcloth, scrubbing at his face and neck, shivering at how cold it is. “Arm feels better.”

“Let’s take a look in a minute,” Taka replies, bending over to clean his legs and feet. When he’s done he gets himself dressed, then grabs his knife to cut the bandage off Carver’s arm.

“Salve worked.” Carver holds his arm out to look, frowning.

“Or the potion.” Taka lights a few candles, which doesn’t help much. He returns to his pack, digs around, and comes up with a dwarven runestone, which he taps twice. The lyrium inside activates and the stone begins to glow, cool white light filling the room. Taka lifts it over Carver’s arm.

“A combination. My skin’s barely even red. Aeveth really does make the best curatives.”

“Agreed, among other things.” Aeveth also has a formulation that, when ingested, leads to an entire afternoon of swirling, hallucinatory fun, which he and Carver have both experienced. The only thing Taka remembers clearly is Adan walking in on them in the shop’s back room, surrounded by rainbows, then walking right back out.

“Good night’s sleep should take care of the rest. Which I’ll get now that we’re in town.”

Taka sighs, tapping the stone twice to deactivate the light. “Fine, yes, it was a good decision.”

“That’s a day when I’ve had two good ideas. You’re slipping, Taka.”

“One good idea. That was the mushrooms. You badgered me into coming here, which was a decision.”

“I didn’t badger anyone, and I need rest for my arm.”

Taka rolls his eyes as he brushes his teeth, unable to reply. Carver’s suffered much worse before and soldiered on, like that time he broke his ankle and didn’t realize it for an entire day.

“Lots of rest,” Carver says with emphasis, then looks pointedly at the bed, sticking his own toothbrush into his mouth.

“I can help with that.” Though he really doesn’t feel like having a tumble, Taka bites his lower lip and drags his gaze up and down Carver’s candlelit body. He’s still stark naked.

Carver gives him another pointed look that speaks volumes. Taka sighs, tosses a log onto the fire, then gets into bed, making sure to place himself directly in the center. His inadvertent nap had been taken lying diagonally with a leg hanging off the edge. Like this, if he puts the top of his head flush with the board, the majority of his feet can stay on.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Carver crosses his arms over his chest, to which Taka applies several adjectives. Broad. Muscled. Strong. Insanely sexy, with some hair but not too much hair. Waiting to be licked and possibly bitten and - 

Taka stops himself because he’s left the realm of adjectives, and also because he’s not supposed to be having sex tonight. It would be rude to do so as a guest in someone’s house. Tomorrow, though.

“I’m getting some rest,” Taka replies, pulling the multiple covers up to his chin, wriggling himself deeper into the mattress. “Ahh. Nice to have real down pillows.”

“You’ve taken the entire bed.”

“Your point? You’ve got the floor, if I remember correctly. You should put some clothes on, it’ll be cold down there.”

“I never agreed to that.”

“Oh.” Taka hums absently. “Thought you did.”

“Give me room, asshole.”

“There isn’t any room, you prick.” Taka spreads his arms out; he’s able to touch his palms to both sides of the bed.

“There isn’t any when you hog it all. Stop joking around.”

“Never.” Taka pouts as Carver pushes him bodily aside and gets in. “You’re naked, you brute.”

Carver moves Taka’s arm over, then turns onto his side. Taka shifts so that Carver can be the big spoon. “You like it.”

“I do not - you’re right, I do. A lot.” Taka wiggles against Carver, who grunts his displeasure, dealing a light backhand to Taka’s shoulder before settling his arm in its customary place. “Are your feet hanging off?”

“No. Fart on me and I’ll kill you.”

Taka shoves his butt deeper into Carver’s crotch. “Revenge for commandeering half the bed.”

Carver laughs, his arm tightening around Taka, his lips finding the back of Taka’s neck. They say nothing for a few minutes, during which Taka drifts, his body seeking sleep again.

And then, “Taka?”

He struggles past the winged darkness and half-sung whispers and back to semi-consciousness. “Mm. Yeah?”

It takes so long for Carver to speak that Taka starts losing his grip on being awake. The song returns, echoes upon echoes in his mind. If he stretches his ears he can understand the words.

_It’s beautiful,_ he thinks, his body pooling liquid into the bed, so relaxed that it feels like falling. _I’d like to go find that some day._

“...you, Taka. Taka?”

Carver’s voice sucks him out of his dream, jolting him back with a gasp. “What?”

“Were you asleep?”

“Sorry,” Taka mumbles. “Didn’t mean to. I’m...really tired. What did you say?”

He can tell how difficult it is for Carver to voice his thoughts. “I said...I’d go down with you, when it’s time.”

“I know.” Taka has assumed this would happen for a number of years. Carver would escort him down, or he would escort Carver down, and salute as the doors closed. Maybe Kenric would still be alive. That would be something, to re-attach to a Legionnaire squad and be under Kenric’s command again.

“I meant with you into the Deep Roads. Past the doors.”

Taka sucks down a long breath, his chest expanding beneath Carver’s arm, filling with pins of grief. “Carver. Why are you thinking about this.”

“One of us has to.”

“There’s nothing for you to think of. When it’s time, it’s time. I go and you stay. That’s the plan.”

The hurt is plain in Carver’s words. “You don’t want me to go with you?”

Taka rolls over with effort to better see Carver’s eyes. “Are you saying this because you think it’s some noble sacrifice in the name of love?” Taka pauses, taking in Carver’s expression. “Carver, you lamb, don’t do it.”

“I don’t know if - I don’t want another partner, Taka. I probably don’t have much more time than you, anyhow. I’d rather spend the rest with you.”

“Maker.” Taka closes his eyes, drawing up strength. Some selfish part of him wants Carver to go. “You haven’t shown any signs. I don’t want you to go past the doors with me.”

More hurt layered on hurt. “Why?”

There’s something burning in Taka’s eyes, and it’s tough to keep his voice steady. “The darkspawn don’t care about how much you love me, or how much I love you. They aren’t going to care about how you followed me down. The two of us aren’t going to defeat the whole horde on our own. You aren’t going to be a better warden for ending things prematurely. That sacrifice of yours?” 

A tear slips out over Taka’s nose bridge. He attributes it to having his eyes open too long. “It’s not going to matter a damn thing except to you and me. That’s the kind of shit history books love, and it’s also precisely the kind of shit I can’t stand. You are the _best_ of us. You are better up here. I don’t want you past those doors until you’re half a ghoul.”

“Taka,” Carver whispers. Taka tells himself it’s just starshine he sees in Carver’s eyes. “Why are you the biggest fucking asshole?”

“If I’m an asshole for kicking love in the face and doing the smartest, most efficient thing, then I’m an asshole.” Taka swallows down the lump in his throat, but it’s replaced with another. “I won’t deprive the wardens of someone like you. I _won’t._ I love you. I’ve loved you ever since I realized Corypheus could take you from me. That will never change. But if you go with me?”

Carver folds his lips in, closing his eyes. Taka feels the trembling of Carver’s body as if it’s his own. Maybe it is. “Carver, look at me.”

“I can’t. Taka, please.”

“Carver, _look at me._ ”

“No,” he whispers.

“You have too much to live for to do this.”

Carver sniffles, leaning into the hand Taka’s cupped around his face. “It’s too soon.”

Taka strokes his thumb over Carver’s cheek and says fiercely, “Carver, you have to stay. Stay because you have a job to do. Stay because you need more time with your sister. Stay because I want you to, dammit, stay because you might save the world with the extra time you get. If there’s anyone to do it singlehandedly, it would be you.”

Carver screws his eyes shut tighter and tighter with every point Taka makes. Taka goes on regardless. “Stay because there’s sunlight and life and good things and good food and a dog, Carver, I got you a dog, I wasn’t going to tell you because it was meant to be a surprise, but fuck it. Stay because you have so much more to offer up here than throwing your life away for a blighted fool in the dark.”

Carver’s jaw flares under Taka’s hand. He sobs once, then holds it in. “You fucking got me a dog?”

Maker, Taka’s in tears too, he can’t deny it anymore. “I got you a dog. I hate dogs. You can pick your horse out when we get to Ostwick.”

“I don’t think Divia’s going to like it.”

“I really couldn’t care less about her opinion when she’s in Ansburg and I am here in the middle of the Vimmarks with you, crying about the Calling or dogs or both, but she’s fine with it.”

“I’m not crying.”

A pause as Taka sniffles, then laughs. “I’m not either.”

“All right, we’re neither of us crying.”

“I’m trying to sleep and you’re being extremely rude in preventing me from doing so.” Taka uses his thumb to scrape a tear away from Carver’s eye. “I’m very tired.”

“Then shut up,” Carver tells him thickly, pressing a hard kiss to Taka’s lips, “and go to sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments sustain me!
> 
> I'm estimating another 4ish chapters remain.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit NSFWish at the end!

“Strange that we’ve had little help,” Taka says as he untacks Hooty. “There are usually at least a few gadflies buzzing around, trying and failing at being useful.”

“Maybe they’ve finally learned their lesson,” Carver replies, doing the same, giving Bear a quick pat on the neck.

“I haven’t been so mean as to drive them off. Perhaps it’s your face?” Taka grins at Carver’s flat look. “Are you all right? Sore, are you? I told you learning to gallop wasn’t going to be that easy, but you didn’t listen.”

“I’m not that sore,” Carver says, wincing as he lifts Bear’s saddle. Carver’s legs and rear take the weight, complaining mightily as he walks the saddle over to the rack. He’s earned himself an impressive collection of bruises as well. “All right, maybe I am.”

“You’ll need a hot bath and a massage. Luckily for you, bathtubs are common here. Masseuses, not so much.”

Carver grins. “That sounds like Orlesian frippery. Can’t you just do it instead?”

Taka’s face lights up. “Of course I can! I’ll get the oils and the fragrances, and some flat rocks heated up, and can’t you just imagine, Carver, you laid out on a bed with nary a lick of clothing, skin gleaming with oil as I work my strong, calloused fingers deeply into your muscles, getting you so relaxed that -” Taka cuts himself off to snicker. “Don’t you dare fall asleep on me. This is my daydream, you don’t get to do that.”

“Oh, I’ll be up. It’ll be too hard to sleep.”

“Will it?” Taka purrs. “Will it? I’m delighted if so.”

“Oils and fragrances, though?” Carver catches sight of a stablehand in Trevelyan livery turning the corner. She immediately about-faces and retreats. When Carver looks back at Taka he notes his slightly narrowed eyes. Carver knows that expression, knows when Taka’s putting the pieces together to make an intuitive leap. “Still sounds like frippery. Especially the hot rocks.”

“It’s Free Marcher frippery. That’s completely different. Ostwickian frippery, to be precise. The hot rock thing is wonderful. You should try it.” Taka steps away from Hooty long enough to snag two scrapers, handing one over to Carver.

“Yes, I’ll schedule an appointment through my seneschal. He should be able to fit it in between dancing at balls and arse-kissing.”

“If you’re offering,” Taka says, then laughs at Carver’s expression. “T’ain’t too much between the balls and arse, is it?”

Carver groans and throws his scraper at Taka, who snags it out of the air easily. “Maker’s sake, Taka!”

Taka tosses the scraper back with a laugh. “Did I get it wrong? Did you want me to do it? I’ll do it, and gladly.”

“Shut up, Taka,” Carver says before Taka can launch into an impassioned speech detailing the glories of Carver’s backside and what he would like to do to it. He’ll happily listen when it’s just the two of them, but they’re standing in the middle of the Trevelyan stables.

“Oh, all right. Give Bear some water and go cool him down. You remember how to do that?”

It’s something Carver’s done every day since leaving the village in the Vimmarks. “Of course.”

“Don’t get snippy with me, Carver. I’m just making sure.”

“I’m not being snippy.”

Taka lifts an eyebrow. “Forgive me, did I misinterpret?”

“I’ve been doing this every night for a week. You gave me instructions on the first day, and left me alone after that.” Carver frowns.

Confusion passes over Taka’s face like a cloud scuttling over the sun. “Oh. I…I’m sorry. You’re right.”

It’s so sudden, the forgetting. Carver swallows down the edge of his sadness and unclips Bear. “I’m going to walk Bear, sponge him down, scrape off the water, and repeat that until his skin feels normal.”

Taka nods once slowly. “Yes.”

They come back together after the horses are in their stalls. Carver shoulders his pack, then stoops and hefts Taka’s. “Showoff,” Taka mutters.

“You wanna carry it?” Carver makes to drop it on Taka’s feet.

Taka dances away. “Absolutely not! I would prefer one of the servants carry both our packs, but they all seem to be mysteriously scarce. My uncle’s doing, no doubt. Or perhaps my father’s.”

“More your uncle than your father, I think.” They leave the stables, Taka reaching for his pack once he’s closed the door. Carver lets him have it.

“We’ll find out soon. Here comes my dearest aunt.”

Niane walks briskly towards them on the path, wearing a thick cloak over her shoulders with her hood pulled up and her face swathed in scarves. Carver can feel Taka holding his impatience, keeping to a walk, but after a few seconds he breaks into a jog, the pots in his rucksack clanging. Taka greets his aunt with a shout, and though Carver can’t hear precisely what his words are, he needs none to understand how glad Taka is to see her.

Taka flings his arms wide to clasp Niane in a bear hug, lifting her and spinning her about like she weighs nothing. Carver hears the bright joy in Niane’s laugh, smiles to himself as Niane returns Taka’s embrace.

“Auntie, it truly isn’t that cold out here!” Taka plucks comically at every single one of Niane’s scarves, lifting and inspecting them. “Tell her, Carver. Is it that cold?”

“I’m getting old, and I don’t come outside that often. Leave your aunt alone, and stop touching the scarves. You’re letting the cold in.” Niane smacks Taka’s hands away.

Taka tugs on Niane’s hood instead, laughing when she whirls on him. “You little shit! That’ll teach me to greet you outside.”

“I know it’s because you’ve missed me so, so much.” Taka leans in lightning quick, planting a wet, sloppy kiss on Niane’s forehead.

“You little _shit!”_ Niane hollers, half-laughing as she scrubs a gloved hand over her skin. “Takaleth Trevelyan! I haven’t missed you that much! It’s only been a few weeks!”

“That is much too long to be without you, Auntie Niane.”

Carver rolls his eyes, smiling.

“No one believes that, not even Carver, so hush your face, Takaleth.” Niane plants her fists on her hips.

“No,” Taka protests, “I mean it, really.”

“It’s because I spoil you by doing everything for you!” Niane swivels her attention to Carver, leveling a pointed look at him. “You’re treating him well, yes?”

“What?!” Carver splutters. “How did this turn to me?”

“Of course he’s treating me well, what makes you think he isn’t?” Taka grins, wide and devious. “Auntie, he’s been taking _such_ good care of me. Carver really knows how to handle me in ways no one else can. He’s so capable, you have no idea. He’d do anything I asked, even get on his knees -”

“Taka!” Carver exclaims through gritted teeth, heat bursting up his neck and into his face. “Maker’s balls, shut up!”

“The irony of you telling me to shut up when it’s you who can’t stop moaning -”

“Shut _up!”_ Carver gives Taka a shove on his shoulder. He staggers away, cackling.

Niane looks wide-eyed at Carver, then at Taka, then back to Carver. “Andraste be praised,” she says, putting her hands to her mouth in shock. “Did you two…?”

Taka returns, walking in an exaggerated swagger. “Oh, yes. _Lots.”_

Niane titters, which would be unbelievable if Carver hadn’t just witnessed it. Then she titters again. “Skies above, it finally happened.”

“What do you mean, finally?” Taka demands. Carver pinches his lips shut over a laugh.

“I meant what I said, and I said finally!” Niane puts her hands back on her hips. “I have suspected for years, but the last time with that whole breakfast situation -”

Taka squawks, indignant. “Lani sold me out, that snitch!”

“- don’t you blame her for anything, she’s a good girl! I have eyes! I saw Carver going with her to take you food -”

“Hey!” Carver interjects, still embarrassed. “I didn’t bring Taka anything! I brought my own food!”

“You brought him breakfast!” Niane says in chorus with Taka. They round on Carver at the same time. Niane continues her scolding. “After he moped about all night -”

Taka snaps his head to the side to fling a melodramatic, incredulous look at his aunt. “I wasn’t moping!”

Carver snorts. “No, you were sulking, and _then_ you were moping.”

“Thank you, Carver. After that whole incident I hoped the two of you would come to your senses, and now you have. Are you happy?” Niane points at each of them, somehow accusatory. “Well?”

“Yes?” Carver ventures, more because Niane looks ready to pull off her shoe and brain him than anything else.

“Happier than I have ever been, auntie.” Taka beams at Carver. “And that’s the Maker’s honest truth.”

“Good.” Niane sniffs, satisfied. “It’s about time.” She grabs at both of them, hauling them close for a semi-awkward hug. “My cheerful boy can be happy again. It’s been so long.”

“Auntie,” Taka says, a pleading tone entering his voice.

Niane sniffles in an exaggerated fashion. “He’s been so sad for so many years. My brokenhearted boy.”

“Auntie.”

“Hush Takaleth, let me speak. My beautiful sunshine boy who had his heart trampled upon so many years ago -”

_“Auntie Niane.”_

“- and never recovered has finally found happiness again, Maker bless you Carver -”

“Taka had his heart broken?” Carver hasn’t heard this particular tale from Taka, but Taka’s close-lipped about anything that ranks above trivial. Except in regards to their new relationship status. Taka is so happy about it that he’s willing to tell his aunt, and that’s significant.

“Oh yes,” Niane answers, squeezing both Taka and Carver harder. Carver grunts. Older she might be, but Carver can feel corded iron muscle through all the layers of clothing. “It was before he left to join the wardens, you see.”

“Auntie _Niane,_ ” Taka whines. “Please stop.”

Carver catches the flash of wickedness in her eyes when she lifts her head. “Uncomfortable, Taka? You haven’t told Carver this story? Don’t like admitting you have feelings?”

Taka struggles to free himself, but Niane holds on, trapping him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I bet Carver already knows how many feelings you have. Don’t you, Carver? Taka cares so much about certain things, and he cares so much about you, Carver. He hasn’t had a relationship in - what must it be now, decades? Decades.”

Carver puts out an arm to support Taka as he deflates. “Auntie Niane, please. _Please._ ”

She laughs at him, loosening her hug. “There there, Takaleth. Just giving you a dose of your own medicine.” She lays her cheek against Taka’s chest, and the edge of her hood falls over eyes. “I love you, and I want you to be happy and cared for because Maker knows you’ve held onto your sadness for too long.”

A moment of silence. “You do take care of me, auntie, you always have.”

Niane’s shoulders shake briefly. “Someone had to.”

“Now that we’re together, does this mean you’ll take care of Carver as well?” Taka asks in a whisper.

“Void, no,” Niane replies, her voice muffled by scarves. “He’ll continue fending for himself.”

“What?!” Carver exclaims, indignant.

“Can’t you take care of him a little bit?” Taka steps back, but not before giving Niane a proper kiss on the cheek. “Please? For me?”

Niane releases Carver, rubbing at her other cheek where it was pressed into his breastplate. “Oh, all right. Only a little. Don’t get used to it, Carver.”

“His favorite foods are the beef noodles and the rice balls,” Taka says. “And some Fereldan food, but that’s rubbish.”

“As if I didn’t already know that, having suffered through the both of you for ten years? What do you take me for? I know exactly what Carver likes to eat. Insult me again and you’ll be eating nothing but barley soup the rest of your days here.”

“Maker, nooooo!” Taka wails. “Not that!”

Carver snickers. “I won’t get used to it, Niane.”

“Auntie Niane.” She glares.

“I’m sorry?”

“Auntie Niane. You’re like my son-in-law now.”

“Um.” Carver shifts uncomfortably. “I, um. Thank you?”

“Thank you, _Auntie Niane._ ” Another heavily meaningful look.

“Thank you, Auntie Niane,” Carver says dutifully.

“Welcome to the family!” Taka claps Carver on the shoulder as if becoming part of the Trevelyan family is something to be desired.

“Speaking of,” Niane says, and suddenly she’s lost all her humor, gone serious so quickly it’s frightening.

“Yes, speaking of.” Taka does the same, the merriment disappearing. “I noticed the lack of stablehands. And you came out to greet us personally. What happened?”

Niane sighs, huddling into her cloak as a wind blows. “I’m sorry, Taka. Your uncle has made it clear you aren’t welcome here anymore.”

“I have as much right as anyone else to be here,” Taka says, irritated, his eyebrows drawing down. “And you’re ultimately in charge of the day-to-day. What changed?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know what your cousin did, or even what you did to draw so much ire out of the man, but he’s threatened to sack anyone who helps you too much. The people who have been here a long time, well, they don’t pay much attention, but the younger ones?”

“Maferath’s wrinkly ballsack,” Taka says, facepalming.

“It’s wintertime and I can’t let them go when they have nothing else. They have families. It’s cruel.”

“I understand. Did my father say anything?”

Niane scoffs. “Where do you think you get your avoidance from, Taka? He’s said nothing.”

“Of course. Well, in that case, my dearest aunt, this will likely be our last stay here.”

“I figured you might say that.” Niane sighs again, her shoulders slumping.

Carver tries really, really hard not to think of it in a macabre way, but he can’t help it. “Taka, you should tell her.”

“Not right this minute.”

Niane’s eyes sharpen. “Tell me what?”

“Something that deserves to be told inside, where we can be comfortably seated like civilized people, with a pot of my uncle’s best and most expensive tea, again like civilized people.”

“Well then, Taka,” Niane says, “in the meantime, what are you planning to do?”

“What I always do!” Taka replies, chipper. “What anyone in this family always does. I’ll do what I want. Let’s go inside. Carver and I will be taking over the master suite.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else out of you, Taka.” Niane’s mouth curls up catlike in a faint smile. She begins walking back toward the house.

*** *** ***

Taka strides into the master bedroom, arms spread wide, pivoting from foot to foot as he describes a circle. “Home, sweet home!” he says with gusto. “Well, sort of, but details, details. Look at that, Carver. The bed’s big enough for you this time. I can sleep on one side and you the other, and the Waking Sea could fit between.”

“Only a slight exaggeration,” Carver says, but it’s true that the bed is huge. He presses a hand down on it, testing the amount of give and return. The mattress is squishy and altogether enticing to sleep upon. The mattresses in the other rooms, especially the singles that Carver’s been in year after year, aren’t like this at all.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Taka says, indicating the bed. “When I was growing up I never wanted to leave. Who could blame me? I could get breakfast in bed if I wanted, too. I had my own pony. What more could a child ask of life?”

“Spoiled little lordling,” Carver murmurs, shaking his head. Taka makes his childhood out to be more rosy than it was. In truth, from what little he’s told Carver, Taka was at times a sullen brat or a charming menace who never forgot how his family treated his cousin, though for years they thought otherwise. His sister was icy and aloof, completely Taka’s opposite. Carver has met neither Raeneth nor Taka’s parents, and doubts he ever will.

“Well, they didn’t feed me with spoons made of silver and gold at least.”

“My apologies,” Carver says with an eyeroll. “It’s not so bad because you could have been even more spoiled and even more of an ass than you already are.”

Taka laughs. “See? Aren’t I wonderful? I’m so considerate. You get the point. Though, might I argue, your sister has a fine estate of her own with a large room just for you, Ser Carver Hawke of House Amell. Or should I say Lord Ser Warden Carver Hawke of House Amell?”

Carver scowls. “No. I’m no lord.”

“All right, Lord Ser Warden Carver Hawke of the noble, storied, and ancient House Amell, brother to Imara Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall, cousin of the Hero of Ferelden, Mirana Amell, veteran of the Fifth Blight, slayer of -”

“Shut up, Taka.”

“- innumerable darkspawn, wielder of a huge sword in more ways than one -”

Carver puts a hand to his forehead and inhales slowly. “Taka, shut up.”

“- known as much for his fighting prowess, his loyalty, and his devotion as much as his simplicity -”

“Fucking _Maker,_ Taka!” Carver tackles Taka onto the bed amidst his laughter, coming to a stop inches from his face.

“- and giant muscles and rugged handsomeness -”

“How can you still be talking?!” A kiss, Carver thinks. That’ll get Taka to be quiet.

“Because, Lord Ser Warden Carver Hawke, beloved of one Lord Ser Warden Takaleth Trevelyan, I can.”

Carver freezes. Taka has the temerity to grin at him.

“Are you going to kiss me now or what? I know you’re thinking about it. I can hear your thoughts, you know.” Taka deepens his voice, putting some sandpaper in it. “Maker, if I just kiss Taka he’ll shut the fuck up.”

Carver kisses Taka, shoving his tongue into Taka’s mouth to prevent talking. Taka laughs, breaking away, but Carver turns his head to kiss him again, with more finesse this time. One kiss becomes another, and soon all Carver can think about is Taka and how easily they fall into each other, how lovely he tastes, how between the sighs and the touch of his hand on Taka’s face and the ache in his heart which hurts only because his heart is overfull - all Carver can think about is how delightful it is to be with Taka, how joyful.

The straining of his cock in his breeches takes a little of that away. Only a little, mind. The rest is taken away by the chorus of complaints from sore muscles.

Carver knows how to fix both issues.

“Lock the door,” Taka whispers to him, his brown eyes now black, the pupils blown wide open. He reaches for the sash around his waist, pushing Carver off him.

There’s a bit of dizziness as Carver gains his feet and totters towards the door. He fumbles at the locks, hearing the zip and slap of silk being yanked off, followed by the thud of Taka’s wide leather belt hitting the floor. Boots, Carver thinks, bending with a bit of difficulty.

“It’s too much,” Taka half-laughs, fingers pushing straps through loops. “Maker, we’re going to have to start all over again once we’re undressed.”

“We don’t have to -” Astyth’s fucking stitches, _fuck_ his armor ties.

“This isn’t a tryst, you fool, I want every glorious inch of your body revealed and as much of that moonlight-pale skin touching me as possible.”

Carver grins, stripping off his vambraces. “Glorious? Moonlight?”

Taka pauses to look Carver straight in the eyes. “Fucking glorious,” he says. “All of you, just magnificent, like art.”

He’d blush if it came from someone else, but from Taka it’s validation, and he’s spent too long seeking it to give into self-consciousness. “Do go on about me.”

Taka hauls off his shoulderguards and removes his surcoat, dropping it with a metallic crash. “It’s as if the Maker himself came down and sculpted you. There isn’t a single bit of you that isn’t perfect. Your handsome face, your chiseled jawline, your sapphire eyes. Your shoulders. Your arms. Your back. Your ass. I have never beheld one so flawless. May I never see another, for it will marr the exquisite experience of seeing yours. And your cock?” Taka breathes out, eyes half-lidded, and lifts his fist to his mouth so he can bite it. “How shall I take you, Carver?”

Taka drops his voice into a low purr, not waiting for an answer though Carver’s already thought of several. “I want my mouth on you in the worst possible way. I want us to do all the things I’ve been thinking of for the last eight years. Have you any idea how much I’ve daydreamed about this? You and me and a bed and nothing else? How incredibly hard that makes me?”

Carver shivers at the desire written across Taka’s face.

“You might have mentioned, but I’ve forgotten.” Carver shrugs out of his gambeson, wondering how Taka can be so slinky and alluring while getting out of his armor. Stomach muscles ripple under Taka’s golden-brown skin as he discards his undershirt; the V of his hips demands Carver’s tongue. Taka’s lithe and lean and ridiculously beautiful and every movement he makes accentuates that.

And Carver himself, well. If a bull could take off a shirt, that would be Carver’s level of awkwardness.

Taka beckons him over. “I would say I’m burdened with the task of reminding you, but it’s no burden.”

They come back together in a clash of lips and teeth, easing back as they sink onto the bed. Taka drags his palm down Carver’s side, grabbing his ass and squeezing. “Andraste be praised,” he says, squeezing again. “I’m going to need to visit the chantry to give proper thanks for you. Glory _be_ to the Maker.”

“Don’t lie to yourself,” Carver replies, shuffling so that their chests can touch. “You won’t be on your knees for thanks.” He traces Taka’s jaw with his fingers, pulling him into another thorough, head-spinning kiss.

They’re both breathless when they surface from each other. Carver stares at Taka’s flushed, parted lips, his somewhat mussed hair. He can’t take his eyes off Taka’s mouth. He wants to see it open and slack with pleasure, swollen from kisses.

“What will I be on my knees for, then?” Taka asks, kissing Carver’s neck, his voice so heavily laden that when his words touch skin Carver feels them as weighted heat in his groin. “I don’t do that for just anyone.”

Carver growls. “You’ll do it for me.”

Taka looks at him, sultry. He nips Carver’s throat, lifting a moan past his lips. “The pup has a mouth on him, but he’s all bark.”

“I’ll show you,” Carver mutters, his hand snaking down between Taka’s legs. Oh, how exciting it is to have Taka’s hardness fit so well against his palm. That’s all Carver’s doing. He rubs the head of Taka’s cock with his thumb.

“Sweet boy, that’s exactly what I’m hoping for.” Taka grins, his eyes lit with anticipation. He grinds his hips into Carver’s hand.

“Call me sweet boy again,” he throws back, challenging. A squeeze and a pump, and Taka’s biting his lip to cover his groan.

“Sweet boy,” Taka says, surging forward to kiss Carver, his hips pulsing. Taka slips fingers into Carver’s hair and grips, his knuckles tight against Carver’s scalp. Carver moans helplessly into Taka’s mouth, the pleasure rippling through his whole body. “Sweetest boy. What are you going to do, Carver?”

It’s extremely hard to think. All he wants is Taka in whatever way they can manage, for however long they can manage. Carver blurts out the first thing the comes to mind. “Get my brains fucked out, you and the Maker willing. And then fuck your brains out.”

“I am so willing,” Taka replies, his fingers hooking into the waist of Carver’s smalls. “Maker, I am _so_ fucking willing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one knows what's going on, least of all me. I muddle through as always.
> 
> Comments dearly appreciated. Much love! Of course if you feel like yelling at me, I also accept that. Complaints and grievances as well.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW(ish?) in the beginning!

The week goes by in a blur, filled with Carver and only Carver. Taka spends seven entire days with him, takes for himself hours and hours and devotes them to nothing important, like learning the touch of each other’s hands so deeply that it’s instinctive. Except it’s the most important thing in the world to know exactly how Carver caresses Taka’s shoulder, because no one else does it the way Carver does with his thumb resting against Taka’s collarbone just so, right before it slips up to nudge against Taka’s jaw, tipping his head back for a fervent, melding kiss.

It’s enough and yet it isn’t. Carver takes the meaning of the word and shows Taka a world without limits. Taka thinks the hundreds of kisses they exchange in a day is enough, but then Carver surges against his mouth, demanding, and Taka knows it isn’t. Taka wrings Carver dry and that is unsatisfactory, because Carver expects Taka to be just as limp and boneless. Nothing is enough when Carver wants, and Maker help him, when Carver wants, he _wants._ The rawness of it in his eyes steals Taka’s breath away.

And when that happens, when Taka is overwhelmed by how much and how frankly and how intensely Carver loves him, Carver steps in as good partners do, taking the lead, transitioning seamlessly. Carver lays Taka down, kisses him into ruin, strokes him up some hundreds of feet above the ground. That’s enough until Carver’s mouth slides hot and wet down Taka’s cock and Carver’s pleased groan rumbles into Taka’s body and then Taka has to look, really look, lift his head from the pillows to catch the sight of Carver’s lips wrapped around him and those sky-blue eyes glazed over with desire. Oh, _shit._

It’s enough until it’s too much, but Carver won’t let him rest because there is still more. Taka licks lips dried out with his moans, clenches his teeth as Carver prepares them both, finds his thoughts deserting him as Carver works himself in. _This,_ he thinks, but the rest of it flees. _I,_ he starts, but Carver’s hips move and Taka’s jaw slackens and a sound comes out that has Carver looking at him in a way that makes words fade. After that there is nothing but the stoking of the fire and quickening breaths and Carver’s arms hard around him and Carver hard inside him and maybe there’s even some begging, which Taka will never admit to because he doesn’t lose himself that way, but Carver drives into him and everything blanks hard and loud and Taka’s gone, fucking gone, messy and shattered to pieces and spent to the last.

When he comes back to himself he lies in a heap, only lifting a shaking arm to brush back the beloved, stubborn lock of hair off Carver’s forehead.

The second week begins, and they agree to leave the sanctuary of the master bedroom, though Taka would rather indulge his hedonism some more. Carver gets twitchy if he’s stuck in one place too long however, so for his sake Taka alters the routine. He opens his eyes each morning to Carver’s face, able to sense where Carver is kissing him, but unable to move. Taka drifts off to wait the paralysis out as Carver handles the mundane things; no one but Niane and Lani will help, so in a way it feels almost as if the estate is all theirs.

He makes that very comment when Carver returns to the room, fresh linens held between his body and his elbow, a tray of breakfast foods balanced in his hands. Taka turns from observing his face in the mirror - he’s done so much smiling he’s convinced he’s gotten extra crow’s feet, but since Carver’s put them there he doesn’t much mind - and helps Carver unload, setting the table and laying the spread.

“Domestic, isn’t it?” Taka says, sipping his tea. “We can pretend this is ours, all ours. At least until my father or uncle forces us out of here.”

Carver brings over a small glass of frothy greenish liquid, putting it down in front of Taka with a clack. “Easier for you to say because you haven’t been out.”

“I’ll be out soon enough. We just need the horses and the dog. Soon!” Taka ignores the glass.

Carver takes a seat across from him, gazing at his breakfast with relish before meeting Taka’s eyes. “Drink up, Taka.” 

“It’s disgusting. Why can’t the Dalish make their remedies taste better?”

“It’s good for you.” Carver says it like he’s a mother patiently reasoning with a child.

“Again, you don’t know that.”

“It doesn’t hurt you. That I do know.”

“It offends my tongue.” Taka folds his arms over his chest and pouts. “We don’t know if it works or not. I don’t want to drink it.”

“Just throw the damn thing down, Taka. The worst it can do is taste bad.”

And the best it can do is slow the effects of the Taint. The chances are slim, close to zero. Taka sulks harder. “All right, fine. I need a minute. You’re being too bossy, by the way.”

Carver snorts, then laughs. “Stop deflecting me. Drink it.”

Taka makes a horrid face, braces himself, then drinks the contents of the glass in a single gulp. It’s vile and foul and tastes like an ugly morning after. He chases it with tea, not caring that he scalds his tongue. “Maker, that’s disgusting.”

Carver breaks his cruller in half and drops it into his bowl of milk, poking it until it capsizes. He then hauls it out with his eating sticks and places one end of it on his spoon, unhinges his jaw, and devours it whole. “It’ll make you appreciate your breakfast more,” he says as he chews.

“I would have appreciated it well enough without having to drink that,” Taka replies flatly, reaching for a rolled-up egg crepe. Carver sighs through his nose and continues eating, disengaging. He’s probably unwilling to rehash the argument they’ve had every morning. Carver gives Taka medicine, Taka bitches about it but ultimately takes it, and that’s that.

They bundle up once breakfast is finished, leaving the suite to run errands, agreeing to meet at the stables to see the new horses in the far paddock. Taka checks for correspondence in the rookery, then sends a bird to Divia to update her on their location. No doubt she’ll have another assignment as soon as she receives the message, which is why he’s delayed sending it.

Carver’s leaned up against the paddock fence when Taka arrives, forearms along the top rail, one foot propped on the bottom. “Hey,” Taka says, smiling when Carver turns around, the breeze combing through his hair. “Wrong pasture.”

“I could have sworn…” Carver twists, looking side to side. “Shit, really? The stablehand said the far left.”

“No, it’s the far right. Come on, Carver, how old are you? Still confusing left and right?”

“Shut up!” Carver squints at the expanse of land, taking a few steps towards the fence on the other side of the track. “Are those...donkeys?”

Taka snickers. “I’m joking. This is the correct pasture.”

Carver whacks Taka on the shoulder. “Fuck you, Trevelyan.”

“Fuck you right _back,_ Hawke, it’s my turn next.”

“I didn’t mean it like that -”

“Are you sure?”

“Maker,” Carver says, but he laughs a little anyway.

They pause to watch the horses, and when Carver puts himself shoulder to shoulder with Taka, he allows it. He stops himself short of laying his head against Carver, though. If he does that then they’ll probably start kissing and then they’ll be doing a reenactment from a Randy Dowager issue out in the open. There’s been one about Grey Wardens that has seen wide circulation.

“See anyone you like?” Taka asks after a while.

“Maybe the gray one back there?” Carver indicates it with a nod of his head.

Taka follows his line of sight to where a strikingly dappled gray horse is pulling hay from a feeder. “Gray horses will change coat color to white. If you’re fine with your horse changing colors…”

“White?” Carver rubs his chin in thought. “I could actually be the knight in shining armor, riding in on a white horse.”

Taka snickers, but it isn’t a bad idea. Carver could certainly play the part. Taka tucks the thought away for the next time they’re in bed. My, but how Carver loves being praised. Taka can even crack some terrible jokes about swordplay and sparring. Yes, it’s quite excellent. “I approve of your choice. You should go in and see if you two will get along.”

“Go in?” Carver doesn’t wait, climbing over the fence, landing solidly on the other side. “Then what?”

“Approach him slowly, and hold out your hand like this.” Taka demonstrates. “Be patient. Let him see you and smell you. He might not want to do anything because he’s eating, though.”

But the horse lifts his head, mouth working around hay, and pricks his ears as Carver closes the distance. “Stay right there,” Taka calls out, keeping his voice pitched as low and gentle as possible. “If he reaches out - yeah, like that. Oh, lucky you, he’s coming over. Just stay there. See if he’ll let you pet him on the neck.”

“I think he likes me,” Carver says, throwing a grin at Taka as the horse lips his shoulder. “I’ve seen Hooty nibble on you like this. Bear’s never done it to me.”

“Pay attention to the horse,” Taka replies, pushing up and off the fence. Figures that Carver would have some kind of natural affinity for animals. “Come out when you’re ready. I’m going to visit Hooty.”

Carver takes his time, which pleases Taka. When he returns Taka’s standing with Hooty in her stall, pressing his fingers around the bases of her ears. “He’s definitely a boy,” Carver declares. “I’ve named him Radish.”

Taka sighs. When Carver makes a promise, he follows through. “Of course you did.”

“Do you know when the puppy will arrive?” Carver tries to act casual, but Taka knows he’s excited.

“I’m not sure, but soon, most likely.”

“I’m naming him Turnip.”

Taka shakes his head. “Carver, you don’t even know if it’s going to be a boy or a girl. What if it’s a girl?”

“Then I’ll name her Turnip. It works either way.” Carver grins. 

Taka tries to frown, but can’t help grinning right back. Carver’s way too pleased with himself. “That’s so Fereldan of you to name animals after root vegetables. What’s next, Tater? Rutabaga? Parsnip?”

“Good suggestions all.” Carver clears his throat. “This means we need a second dog.”

“What?” Taka sputters. “A second dog? And what’s this we you’re referring to? I’m not getting a dog.”

“You need a dog, Taka.”

“I have no such need. I’ve already got a horse and you.”

“Neeps is going to need a friend.”

“Maker,” Taka says, rolling his eyes. “The dog isn’t even here yet and you’ve given it a nickname. I don’t want a dog. I hate dogs. Look around the farm, Carver. We don’t have dogs. Just cats.”

“You need a dog, we’ll name him Tater, and he’ll be best friends with Neeps, I just know it.”

“I’m not getting a dog, Carver!” Taka spins on his heel and starts walking out.

“I’m going to ask Hurley!” Carver calls after him. “Bet he’ll say you need a dog!”

 _Who’s Hurley?_ Taka wonders as he leaves.

*** *** ***

The puppy arrives in a large barred crate, skinny and underfed. Carver does his best to keep in his anger at the dog’s treatment, but Taka can see it in the narrowness of Carver’s glare, the way he holds his shoulders and arms taut, the way each step gets deliberately placed. “That’s no way to treat a mabari,” Taka overhears Carver muttering as the merchant leaves, perhaps a touch hastily given how clearly Carver’s body language is projecting violence.

Taka stands aside as Carver unlocks the crate and opens the door. The puppy curls itself into a ball in the back corner of the crate, shivering. “Poor thing,” Carver murmurs. “All right then, we’ll give you some space.”

It takes several minutes for the dog to move. Taka uses the time to observe it, noting the black brindle of its coat, which will be beautiful when the dog is properly cleaned and fed. The coat is the only thing that’s striking about the dog, which consists of a barrel chest, long thick legs ending in enormous paws, and a face only a mother could love. Or Carver, judging by his expression. The puppy might be scrawny, but Carver’s already head over heels.

The dog really is ugly. Taka can’t imagine finding any part of it cute, not even if he were feeling better and more charitable towards everything. Its muzzle is oversized for its face while its pointed ears are undersized, and from the side it resembles more a drooling adult bear than anything else. Turnip, Taka thinks, might just be the perfect name for it.

“Hullo,” Carver says softly, hunkering down, extending a hand. “Come on out, pup. My name is Carver. I’ve been waiting to meet you.”

Taka sighs heavily, what little interest he had already fading. He knows he should try to be excited for Carver, especially considering the dog is Taka’s gift to him, but he can’t seem to fake it today. “This isn’t a tea party, Carver. It’s a dog.”

“Mabari aren’t just any old dogs, and they can understand what we’re saying. Isn’t that right, pup?” Carver stays where he is, allowing the dog to creep forward and out of the crate. The puppy licks him experimentally. “I bet you’re glad to be out of there. Yes, that’s it. Good dog.” The puppy’s stumpy tail begins to wag as Carver pets it.

“Let’s take a look at you, shall we?” Carver lengthens his strokes, scratches under the dog’s ears, laughs when the dog licks him on the nose. “Taka, can you check if it’s a boy or girl?”

 _Do I have to?_ Taka almost says, but he holds his tongue and peeks behind the dog because this is Carver’s moment and Taka won’t intentionally ruin it. “It’s a girl.”

“Well then!” Carver exclaims, pitching his voice higher. Sweet Maker, Carver sounds goofy. That’s how one speaks to dogs, Taka supposes, or babies. Taka dislikes both, and lacks whatever instinct that causes people to sound like fools in situations like these. “What a good girl you are! I’m going to call you Turnip. What do you think?”

Taka lifts his eyes to the middle distance, where the crisp, hard blue of winter sky joins the land. The weather is altogether too cheerful for him. At least, Taka thinks, Carver is happy.

“It’s an excellent name, Taka, she agrees with me. Don’t you, Turnip? Or should I call you Neeps?” Carver gets to his feet, smiling as he hauls the puppy up in his arms, draping her front end over his left shoulder. Her forepaws leave dirt smeared over the back of his wool jacket, but he doesn’t seem to care. Neeps licks him again, her bottom wiggling. “Yes, that’s it. I’ll call you Neeps. What a _good_ girl. I’m sure you’re starving, look how thin you are. Let’s get something for you in the kitchen. Taka?”

“I won’t interfere with your bonding time,” Taka says, managing a small smile. “You go on. I’ll meet up with you later.” 

Taka waits for them to leave, Carver fair cooing over Turnip, then returns to the house to collect the arrowshafts he made in the Vimmarks. He goes to the small workshop by the armory to finish them, sighing to himself when he enters, sitting down at the table in front of a large westward window, breathing in the comforting scent of cut wood. There are a goodly number of feathers available, but Taka reaches immediately for the hawk feathers. He chortles to himself as he hones his razor blade and begins cutting fletchings. He gets a kick out of knowing he’ll be shooting darkspawn with his lover.

The fatigue hits him before he’s finished, slamming into him on a tall wave of garbled whispers. Taka nods off partway as he’s scraping the quill, almost nicking his finger. It takes more effort than expected to get up, but as tempting as it is to put his head down and sleep, he shouldn’t be napping next to sharp objects. Taka decides that the fletchings can wait as he still has most of a quiver of arrows left. It isn’t as if darkspawn will raid the farm. 

He emerges from his workshop into early afternoon, shading his eyes to look at the sun’s position. It’s past lunchtime, but he doesn’t feel particularly hungry. A pot of tea sounds nice, he decides, so he peeks into the kitchen, catching Lani’s attention, and asks for tea to be sent up to the master suite. He yawns on the way to the suite, covering it with a hand, and it’s then that the first rush of darkness encroaches on his vision, smothering his periphery.

Taka comes out of it lightheaded and staggering, his shoulder thumping against the wall. He grabs for something, anything so that he doesn’t collapse, his eyesight filling suddenly with clouds of swarming dots. Somehow he stays upright, one hand on the wall, fingernails scraping against it as they dig in.

The master suite is just down the hall, he tells himself, not too far. He sets his sights on it, putting one foot in front of the other, closing the distance with dogged determination. Maker, he’s tired and has been for the last several days, and that tends to make the Taint manifest itself more strongly. It’s happened before, a few times at least, though not to this magnitude. But he truly is worn out. That’s the explanation Taka gives himself.

 _Shouldn’t have fucked so much,_ he thinks. _Guess I’m getting too old to spend a whole week in bed._ His hand lands heavy upon the latch, his weight forcing the door open so quickly that he almost loses his balance and trips. Taka forces himself upright through sheer willpower before his vision grays out again, sending him to his hands and knees, the shock of landing juddering hard through his wrists. His arms wobble right before they give out, the front of his head taking the brunt of the fall on the thick rug.

“Really shouldn’t have fucked so much,” Taka mumbles once he’s got his senses back. He really ought to be in bed. It’s undignified to pass out on the floor. There’s no call getting Carver upset when the day has gone so well for him. So Taka cheers himself on until he’s back on his hands and knees - _c’mon Trevelyan, you handsome cad, you can do it! I believe in you!_ \- shuts the door with a flick of his toes, scrapes his house shoes off his feet. He should walk, he reasons, but at this point he isn’t too proud to crawl. It probably takes less effort.

The whispers return as he approaches the bed, growing louder even though the room is overflowing with sunlight. Taka uses the last of his strength to summit the bed, wondering when it had gotten so high off the ground, and collapses into it, too weak to draw the covers back. He closes his eyes gratefully. There’s a thread of music he can hear, a golden spun melody as clear and pure as a bell, and he wants to chase it down, become part of it.

 _Who am I kidding?_ he thinks. A yawning chasm opens in front of him and falling into it seems like the most natural, logical thing to do. He finishes his thought first. _No such thing as fucking too much._ Not when there exists the sight of Carver’s perfect back stretching away from Taka’s hips, his muscles flexing as he curses and clutches the pillows and comes sublimely undone.

Oh, _Carver._ The way he looks when they’re together is downright transcendent, and Taka’s lips curve into a smile as he pictures Carver’s face, his mouth moving around the words _I love you._

_I love you too. So much._

Taka succumbs to his exhaustion, slipping easy and peaceful into the song.

*** *** ***

Shrieking, dissonant panic seizes him on waking, sinking clawed fingers into his heart, laying stones on his chest. Taka’s breath clatters to a stop as his eyes fly open, rolling from side to side, seeking the reassuring warmth of light. It’s so dark that it’s disorienting, with only a faint orange glow coming from embers in the fireplace. The light is so feeble it can’t even scatter the thick shadows crouching in the corners of the ceiling.

It doesn’t matter for now. Taka’s priority is himself. He fights to regain control of his breathing, his every instinctive command to inhale or exhale countermanded by the bands of iron constricting his chest. Sweat springs up on every part of his skin. Calm, Taka has to be calm and not overthink it otherwise he’ll overshoot and get anxious about not calming down fast enough, but his chest keeps expanding and contracting on empty. It hurts.

“Taka. Taka?”

 _Carver? Carver._ Taka can’t say a word nor move a muscle, not with his entire body feeling as if it’s buried deep belowground, weighed down with dragonsong.

Carver cups Taka’s cheek with a hand, supporting himself on an elbow, the planes of his face picking up just enough light to highlight his expression of fear. Taka fixates on Carver’s face, eyes tracing the fall of jet black hair over Carver’s forehead, the strong chin and jaw, the straightness and directness of his nose, the eyes tight with worry. “I’m here,” Carver says, his voice a jarring counterpoint to the melody. They don’t harmonize in the slightest, and the incongruity shreds the cohesion of the song. “Taka, I’m here.”

The heaviness snaps like a broken chain. Taka gasps so hard his upper body lifts off the bed, gasps again like he’s come up from the ocean after a long dive. Carver’s fingers leave Taka’s cheek, flitting down to tighten on his shoulder.

“I’m all right!” Taka manages between heaves. “Carver, I’m all right.”

The music fades back in, beckoning at him even though he’s just been freed.

“You aren’t all right,” Carver says, then bows his head, touching his forehead to Taka’s.

“I’m fine,” Taka repeats himself, emphasizing the last word, trying to unclench his hands and feet, his neck and shoulders. “You know how things get when you’re too tired. That’s all.”

Carver shakes his head, his mouth set into an angry frown, his eyebrows drawing together. “That’s not it and you know it. Maker, I - I’m getting you the herbs.”

Taka whines. “I just had them this morning!”

“We’ll do two doses a day, then.” Carver hauls himself out of bed, but not without leaving a lingering touch.

“You just like torturing me! I’m _fine._ ” But Taka’s so heavy, and the melody is calling him back to sleep.

“It won’t hurt if you take some more.” Taka doesn’t bother watching Carver as he strides to the desk in the corner. Glass clinks, and strangely it’s a complement to the music.

Taka closes his eyes, relaxing into the bed. It’s warm and smells like Carver and someone has kindly put blankets on him.

“Taka, don’t you go back to sleep.”

Funny how Carver’s voice echoes as if it’s coming from across a great chamber. His voice is distorted too, the tones harsh, barely comprehensible as language.

“Taka?”

His consciousness sinks, then scatters like motes in the wind.

“Taka, don’t you dare -”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for mistakes and hurried editing on this one - wanted to get it out ahead of potential power loss (don't worry, we're fine).


	18. Chapter 18

Taka sleeps, and Carver watches.

He does get up. He’s too used to moving around to stay in one place. When he was little he used to bounce his leg until Bethany got so annoyed she’d lean down from the top bunk and hit him in the face with her pillow. Carver bounces his leg until he annoys himself, then stands, shrugging his shoulders one by one, stretching his head from side to side, taking a few deep breaths. 

Turnip lifts her head from her paws, her ears pricking. She’s lain quiet in front of the hearth for far longer than a puppy should, and Carver should let her out, run her around. She’s incredibly intelligent even for a mabari, and that shows in how she understands the situation, waiting patiently for him even as he waits for Taka.

“Ready?” he asks her. She tilts her head at him, inquisitive. “Walk?”

Turnip leaps to her feet, her bottom wagging as she dashes around the room, claws scrabbling over the rugs. She already knows not to bark when Taka’s sleeping. “Good girl,” Carver praises her, holding a hand out about waist height, palm down. Turnip comes to a halt in front of him and sits obediently. He bends over to pet her, which turns into scratching her under her ears, which then becomes a series of kisses buried in the ruff of her neck. Her stubby tail whips back and forth, a blur.

“I’ll be back,” he says, looking at Taka, keeping himself from touching him, not wanting to feel the roil of the Taint Carver tells himself he’s imagining. It’s midmorning and Taka hasn’t stirred from the position he fell asleep in the night prior, has barely managed to get out of bed during the times he is awake. It’s atypical for him to sleep this much. More than atypical. 

One year, Taka said, maybe two. Carver bites his lip, squeezing his eyes shut, able to sense the hands of time closing on his partner. At this rate Taka only has months. If he has enough willpower to hold out, he might get most of a year.

How much of Taka will be left then, Carver can’t say.

 _Maker, I hate you,_ Carver thinks, bitter. _You take everything. First Father, then Bethany, then Mother, and now Taka._ Then it’ll be his turn, followed by Imara unless she beats him to it, which she might because that would be just like her. Longevity is a foreign concept to the Hawkes, it seems.

“I’m, um.” Carver breathes in slowly. “Just going to take Neeps out for a bit, maybe jog Radish some.”

Carver steps out, closing the door quietly behind him. He hears Neeps yip before he looks up, alerting him to someone in the hallway. It’s Niane, her face creased with worry, holding a tray in her hands. “Is he awake?”

He shakes his head no.

She sags visibly. “Has he woken at all? Has he eaten anything?”

“No, he hasn’t.” Carver opens the door so that Niane can enter, picking up last night’s tray, trading it to her. “He’s been out since last evening.” Carver had lain flush with Taka as they settled in for the night, shoulder pressed to shoulder, hands linked. Taka had passed out so quickly he didn’t even mount a protest when Neeps jumped onto the foot of the bed. A truly domestic situation, Carver had thought, like something out of a dream, fleeting and ephemeral, to be snatched away too soon.

Carver had rolled onto his side then, fitting himself to Taka, the pillow below him damp and uncomfortable as he fell asleep.

“Is there…” Niane sets down last night’s tray on the low table, her house shoes a muted scuffling against the rugs as she crosses the room swiftly. She fusses over Taka, tucking the covers snugly around him although Carver’s already done that and Taka hasn’t moved. She places her hand over his forehead. “Carver, is there anything I can do?”

He shakes his head again, not wanting to see her concern grow into desperation. If she does it, then he’ll start traveling down that path as well. Carver has to stay levelheaded as much as possible in order to respond to Taka’s needs. “Wait for him to wake up. That’s all. He will, eventually.”

This Carver knows for a certainty. Taka is not dying here at his family’s estate, not in a place that doesn’t want or need him. When Taka meets his end it’ll be in the Deep Roads, and Carver will, Maker willing or not, be there.

Niane gives Taka an anguished look, her hand stroking his hair. “You know, he never got sick as a child. Maybe once or twice he was ill enough to stay in bed, but otherwise he was always healthy as, well…”

“A horse?” Carver supplies.

“Mm,” she acknowledges. “Yes.”

A pause.

Then, “How serious is this, Carver?”

He sighs, glancing at the hallway where Neeps is worrying at one of Taka’s house shoes. “I need to take Neeps out. Can we talk while I do it?”

Neeps bolts the second she gets outside, sprinting headfirst into a row of bushes to relieve herself, then tears around the grounds as Carver and Niane walk. Carver watches Neeps streak from one place to another, her black brindle coat already acquiring some shine thanks to the diet Carver has meticulously put together for her. She’s also lost a bit of the gaunt look from her travels in only a couple of days, which Carver counts as a good sign.

“I want you to know,” Niane says, her boots scuffing against the slate-lined path, “before you say anything. I want you do know how much Taka loves you and holds you in his regard.”

Carver keeps his eyes forward, unable to meet Niane’s gaze. “I’ve got an idea.”

“You don’t understand, Carver. He doesn’t get gifts for anyone. He’s never gone out of his way to give something material. He doesn’t spare any thought on things like this.” Niane grips one of her hands with the other. “Especially not a gift like this. He doesn’t even like dogs.”

“So he’s said.” As for the lack of giving, well, that rings true. Taka would count his company as gift enough.

“He’s also given you a horse, I hear.”

Carver nods. “Yes.”

“Promise me.” Niane stops, reaching out, her fingers clamping down on his arm. Carver comes to a halt, looks into deep brown eyes bright and hard with emotion. “Promise me you’ll take care of him.”

“Of course I will, Niane.” That’s the least he can do, taking care of Taka.

“Auntie Niane.”

He ducks his head, admitting his mistake. “Auntie Niane.”

“You might think it’s silly, but it’s important to me.” Niane lets go of him and begins walking again. “He’s almost my son. He was born to another woman, but I got him before he was five and raised him like my own and if he’s chosen you and he’s happy with you, then I will treat you the way I would treat any man or woman marrying into the family.”

Carver’s mouth goes dry. “We - we aren’t married, Auntie Niane.”

“No,” she says, a bite to her words, “but you might as well be. You’ve been partners for ten years. He’s gotten you a horse and a dog. You might as well be married. And because no one else will recognize that, I will.”

He rubs his jaw with his knuckles, not quite knowing what to say. “Thank you, Auntie Niane.”

“So how serious is it, Carver? Taka’s illness, or whatever it is he has. I’ve seen how worried you are.”

Carver sighs. “Did Taka ever tell you the thing he said would be better told while sitting comfortably inside?”

“No.” Niane’s mouth tightens. “I assume it had to do with this.”

He nods. “I don’t know how else to say this. I’m sorry. I’m not good with words the way Taka is.”

“That is a good thing, believe it or not. I would rather hear it plain. Taka would try to downplay it.” She sniffs. “Is he dying?”

Carver takes her brusqueness like a hit to the chin, stopping short, his teeth clacking together. “No. Not yet.”

Niane exhales. “A relief.”

“But he’s...heading in that direction.”

Her mouth twists. “Spoke too soon.”

“We wardens, we don’t…” Carver sighs through his nose. “You know what the Calling is?” At her nod, he continues. “It varies for all of us. The luckiest hear it after thirty years. A lot of us hear it between ten and fifteen.”

“Taka’s been a warden for nigh on twenty,” Niane says, pressing her fingers together.

Carver nods. “He’s been lucky compared to the rest. But he’s at the end. He’s estimated he’s -”

He interrupts himself to swallow. Maker, he hates crying. It’s complete shit. “I’m sorry, I -”

“It’s all right, Carver. Take your time.”

Unbelievable she can say that when she’s near tears herself. “That’s just it. Taka’s out of time. He’s said he has a year or two left, but the way he’s going, he - he doesn’t even have a year. He’s got months before he can’t fight it anymore.” Oh, admitting it out loud was a mistake. Carver looks up at the sky, breathing evenly.

“So when he said this stay would be his last time here, he really meant he wouldn’t be alive by next year?” Niane has gone cold and still, the steel in her spine so present that Carver can taste the tang of it on his tongue.

“Yes.” It’s all he can manage.

“And what about yourself, Carver? How long have you been a warden?”

He clears his throat. In the distance Turnip barks at the stablehands, every bit the eager puppy as she tries to manipulate someone into playing fetch with her. “A few years shy of twenty.”

“You’re lucky too, then.”

“If you want to view it that way, go ahead.”

“I’m not being rude, Carver. You’re lucky too, because you and Taka have had a chance at something.”

It sure feels like she’s being rude. “I wanted more than a chance.”

“He isn’t dead yet,” Niane says acidly. “Don’t treat him like he is.”

“You sound just like him.” The touch of her eyes is more like a slap in the face. He can see how Niane got someone like Taka in line.

“You mean he sounds just like me. I raised that little shit, I should know. Carver, get a hold of yourself.” Niane reaches out, closing her hand over his shoulder, and shakes him once. “When he wakes up, which I know he will because you’ve said so, you had better make sure to seize every minute you can with him.”

“Niane, it’s not just the sleeping. He’s forgetting things because of the Taint. You don’t understand -”

“I understand enough.”

“No, you don’t! You don’t understand how the Taint takes pieces of you away until you don’t know who or where you are, what day it is, nothing! You don’t understand that you won’t be yourself, that it changes you until you don’t even need to eat anymore. You only hear the Calling until all you can do is go to the Deep Roads -”

“Then you _remind_ him!” Niane hisses. She glares, furious. “You remind him of the things he’s forgotten, you build new memories with him, you make the most of the time the Maker has set aside, and then you go with him to the Deep Roads to make sure he does what he’s supposed to do! You treat him like someone you love instead of an invalid!”

Carver recoils from her, but she tightens her grip on him. “Do not grieve Taka before he is dead,” she spits. “It’s ill luck and I won’t have it, not for him. I’ll have your hide if you do, do you understand?” Niane shakes him again.

There’s nothing else he can do. “Yes, Auntie Niane.”

She releases him with a shove, the anger rising in tendrils off her shoulders. “When he wakes up you send him to me. I need to have some words with him.”

Carver bows his head, wondering if those words have anything to do with Taka’s questionable choice in partners. “Yes, Auntie Niane.”

“Now go take your horse and your dog out, and stop this nonsense.” She lets him have one last glare before she begins stalking back towards the house.

 _Yes, Auntie Niane,_ Carver thinks. He takes a deep breath, flexing his hands, rolling his shoulders. She’s right. She is.

Carver whistles for Neeps, and tries to turn his thoughts away from sadness.

*** *** ***

Taka’s awake when Carver returns, glancing up from the desk where he’s writing something, a robe embracing his lean form except where it parts to give a view of long legs crossed at the knee.

“You’re up,” Carver says.

Taka graces Carver with a smile, which sours when Turnip trots in, covered in mud. 

“Out,” he orders the both of them. “I learned how to be tolerant of you wearing boots inside, but I won’t abide the both of you dirtying the floors. Give the dog a bath at the very least. I cannot believe you went through the entire house like this and no one yelled at you.”

“She’s not that dirty!” Carver protests, wincing when he sees a perfect muddy pawprint on the immaculate hardwood floor.

“Out!” Taka points with his quill.

Sighing, Carver calls Turnip back, then searches for a suitable tub. They’re both drenched in dirty water by the end, which necessitates a second bath. Carver may be more accepting of dirt, but even he can’t ignore the grayish-brown spots of water everywhere. 

“How are you feeling?” Carver asks when they come back, both he and Turnip as water-slick as otters.

Taka takes one look at them and bursts into laughter. Carver smiles despite himself; Taka’s laughter has been missing lately, and hearing it means that, for right now, things are all right.

“More rested,” Taka replies, scattering sand over his paper. It’s covered top to bottom in his impeccable handwriting, but consists of more scribbles and cross-outs than anything else. “I told you I was just tired. I’m hungry as well. I’ve already eaten what Auntie Niane brought.”

“That’s good,” Carver says, gladdened by the appearance of Taka’s appetite. He sends Neeps to lie down on her pallet. “By the way, your aunt wanted to talk to you.”

“She’s already come by. Gave me an earful, too. What’d you do?”

“Same thing I do to you, make you mad.”

Taka grins. “Well, you make me less mad these days, and more other things.” He winks.

Carver smiles back despite himself, then begins shucking his wet clothing.

“Warn me before you start doing that next time,” Taka drawls, turning his chair around, leaning back in it. “So I can get comfortable before the show.”

“What about you?” If Carver slows his pace, then he slows his pace. Taka won’t mind in the least if Carver bends over the bed, naked from the waist up, and arranges his woolen tunic carefully so it will retain its shape as it dries. “Don’t you have to get dressed?”

“I don’t have to do _anything,_ ” Taka declares, steepling his fingers as he lounges. “Be a dear and turn a hair to the right - perfect. Perrrfect. Yes, right there.”

Carver pulls the laces on his breeches, aware that they too are wet. “If you want more food you’ll have to get dressed and leave the room.”

“The gall of you telling me what I have to do in my own house. Turn around, if you will.”

“I’ll tell you what to do whenever I feel like it.” Carver turns around anyway, peeling his breeches off his backside. He can imagine how Taka will react, knows how his eyes will spark, how his manner will shift from casual to a smoking sensuality. He’s probably already touching himself. It feels good knowing Taka is this attracted to him. The flattery helps, too. “I’m getting dressed as soon as I’m dry.”

“Not bloody likely,” Taka retorts. “To both those things. I don’t take orders, and you cannot expect to come in here, do a striptease, and not end up in bed.”

“Where are my clothes?” His rucksack looks altogether flattened and lonely in the corner. Carver had at least one change of clean underthings in there.

“Why, you’ve taken them off,” Taka says, sly. “Did you not notice? I certainly did.”

Carver faces Taka; Taka grunts appreciatively, looking everywhere but Carver’s eyes. “I meant the spare clothes I had in my rucksack.”

Taka doesn’t answer.

“Taka? Hey, Taka. Up here.” Carver points at his face. “I had a change of clothes. What happened to them?”

“Niane took them to be laundered,” Taka says to Carver’s general crotch area, or maybe his abdominal muscles. Carver can’t be sure. “Lani came by with - and I quote - proper clothing, which she put in the wardrobe for you and me. You aren’t putting them on, are you?”

“I’m hungry too.”

“When are you not?”

“Is that supposed to be some kind of argument?”

“Yes, actually. If you’re hungry all the time then it won’t matter whether you eat now or later, as your constant state is hunger and last I checked, it does not grow interest nor compound itself. Get over here, Carver.” Taka yanks on the tie of his robe.

“For Andraste’s sake, Taka.” Carver goes deliberately to the wardrobe and opens it. “You need food. Let’s eat, and then we can come back here and not leave. What on -” Carver does a double take. “What did Lani bring me?”

Taka huffs, insulted, and re-belts his robe as he sulks his way over. “You like?”

“Is that a doublet?” Carver reaches out, rubbing the material between his fingers. “Velvet? Seriously? That one has to be yours.”

“Nope. It’s yours. It’s too broad in the chest to be mine.”

“Oh, they know my measurements now?”

Taka laughs in his face. “You’re joking. Of course they do. How else would the sweaters and breeches the servants leave fit? The tunics and undershirts? Did you think they would just hand you a sack to wear?” Taka laughs until Carver’s cheeks heat. “Carver, please, I gave them your measurements years ago.”

It’s true that the clothes left in his rooms over the years have fit better and lasted longer than others, but Carver has assumed erroneously that he simply filled most things out. Although, come to think of it, his mother had sewn his clothing until he was nineteen, and she’d known his measurements with a frightening accuracy.

Taka deals him a playful slap on the ass. “Carver, I love you, but sometimes…” He sighs. “All right, fine, get dressed. Only because I want to see how these garments fit. You’ve been upgraded from the last time.”

Carver takes the shirtsleeves off the hanger, the fine cotton smooth and pleasurable against his skin. “What did you do?”

“Told them you deserved your due, of course. You may have been raised a peasant, but you aren’t one, and I finally made that clear.” Taka shrugs out of his robe in one fluid motion, the material falling in a heap around his feet, and reaches for his own shirt. “Do you need help?”

“No,” Carver replies, but allows Taka to button his cuffs and straighten his collar. Carver catches Taka’s hands and brings them to his lips, smiling at Taka’s half-annoyed look.

“The _sweetest,_ ” Taka says, disgusted, turning away to finish dressing himself. “And how dare you look like that?”

“Look like what?”

“As handsome as you do. It’s abhorrent. You might look better than I do, and that isn’t allowed.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Carver says, amused. Taka was born to wear expensive clothing, and Carver, well, Carver wasn’t. “Don’t worry yourself. I’ll be back in my old tunics soon.”

“Not too soon, Maker willing. Indulge my fantasy a bit longer.” Taka smoothes his hands over his body, going to the mirror on the far side of the room to check his reflection. He preens, then winks at himself.

Carver rolls his eyes.

“All right.” Taka puts his hands on his hips, all business. “If you can spare a minute, come take a walk with me. Won’t take long.”

Curious, Carver says, “Where are we going? Stay, Neeps.”

“She can come.” Taka opens the door. Turnip, seized by a fit of energy, scampers out, gangly legs flailing in the awkward manner of puppies. “We aren’t going far. Just to my old room.”

Taka leads Carver down the hallway, passing several doors, then turns into another hall lined with oil paintings of Trevelyans past. Carver peers at them, trying to identify the people. Bann Laeth Trevelyan’s stern face makes him easy to spot no matter what age he is. On the other side of the hall hangs the portrait of a striking woman seated next to a smiling man, whose bright eyes remind Carver of Taka. Aeveth is predictably missing, but there’s another somber little girl with big, dark eyes at the end closest to the window.

“Is that your sister?” Carver asks. In all the years he’s been at the Trevelyan farm he’s never come to this particular wing of the house.

“Yes,” Taka replies, absentminded, fiddling with the door. It swings open silently, revealing a high-ceilinged room in immaculate condition. On the right side are two sets of tall windows covered with heavy curtains; on the far side is the fireplace, a marble creation entirely too formal and stuffy for a child with Taka’s personality. A large four-poster bed heaped with pillows occupies the left, an impressively large cedar trunk at its foot.

“Sweet Maker, there isn’t a thing out of place. I can’t believe they still dust in here. No one uses it. They might as well clear everything out and repurpose it since I won’t be coming back. I’ll ask Auntie Niane to do it.”

Carver has a feeling Niane will refuse. “Are all those bows yours?” he inquires, changing the subject, indicating the two racks flanking the fireplace, each holding four bows. “Neeps, out. Stay.”

“Yeah,” Taka says, granting them a brief look before striding over to the built-in bookshelves between the windows. There are as many books in Taka’s room as there are in the master suite, if not more. Carver stares, his eyes climbing from shelf to shelf. He can’t imagine Taka cooped up inside reading all day, but with Taka’s depth and breadth of knowledge, he had to have been.

Taka moves a stepstool over so he can reach one of the shelves, pulling off a small, intricately-carved wooden box, opening it quickly to peek inside. “Good,” he says, more to himself than Carver. He sticks his hand in, but moves too fast for Carver to see what he’s picked up. Taka replaces the box on the shelf, then slips his hand into his pocket. “All right, trip down memory lane over. Are you ready to eat?”

Carver spins slowly in place, taking in the room. He’s got as many questions as there are items. The leather armor on the form behind the bow rack on the left - how old was Taka when he wore that? When did he get the checkered pennant over the fireplace? What was the significance of the wildflowers pressed into the picture frame beside the bed?

But Carver can sense Taka’s impatience and discomfort, so he sets his questions aside long enough to leave the room, patting Turnip on the head and telling her she’s a good girl. Taka closes the door and ignores Turnip’s pleas for attention as they head to the kitchen.

“There were a lot of books in your room,” Carver ventures as they walk.

“All boring,” Taka replies. “Not a single raunchy story in any of them.”

“I wouldn’t think a child would be allowed to read raunchy stories.”

Taka scoffs. “They’re about as appropriate as military strategy books.”

“Is that what they all were? I didn’t get a closer look.”’

“Most of them, yes. Books about battles past, war history, sword technique, archery technique, every archery treatise that’s ever existed, and more. Boring, boring, and boring.”

“Even the archery stuff?”

“I would have preferred to be on the range, riding my pony and shooting targets. After the Grand Tourney…” Taka trails off. “I wasn’t allowed to be unsupervised for a while.”

“I can’t imagine you sitting still for so long.”

“Me neither, but to be honest I read those books once or twice, and spent the rest of the time playing. Me having a head for strategy but never caring for it drove my father and uncle crazy.” Taka grins cheerfully. “It was much more fun to manipulate them than wooden markers on a map. No one wants to admit it, but I’m better at war games than Raeneth. She just has a visual memory and the ability to recall any of the scenarios presented to us in our books.”

Carver’s mouth flattens as he nods slowly. What he would have given for the amount of attention that had been lavished on Taka, no matter Taka’s feelings about it. “You’re saying you were a shit.”

“I was born a shit,” Taka declares, pushing open the kitchen door, waving to the staff. “I have lived as a shit, and I will die an absolute shit. The shit life, that’s mine and no one else’s. Oh, that smells delicious. Cook, is that pork belly stew?”

Niane doesn’t even glance up from where she’s sitting, a cup of tea and a sheaf of papers in front of her. “Don’t you dare, Takaleth. You wait your turn with everyone else.”

“Let me help at least, auntie, it’ll go faster.”

“You can help. The stew will be done when it’s done.”

“But it’s my favorite!” Taka pretends to whine. “Auntie!”

“Go help make the rice,” Niane orders him. “And don’t get your clothes dirty.”

Carver takes a seat at the long table where the servants eat in order to wait and observe. Taka’s presence changes the room’s energy, and it isn’t long before he’s coaxed smiles out of the entire staff, flirting with everyone as he helps set the table, tossing compliments out like coins at a fountain, charming more and more servants in until Carver’s sure the whole household is crammed into the kitchen. Taka’s mouth runs nonstop through the early dinner, and somehow he puts down an impressive amount of food as he flits about, serving as many as he can, and carrying on conversation.

Niane says nothing important during the meal, makes no comments at how thoroughly Taka has breached etiquette by waiting on the servants. Taka might as well have thrown it out the window completely, and the uneasy expressions on some of the servants’ faces illustrate clearly how unusual the situation is. Lani wrings her hands when Taka takes her rice bowl to be refilled despite his remarks on how hard she works and how she deserves a moment of rest with a handsome man at her beck and call. 

Everyone chuckles, and Taka, ever the performer, looks directly at Carver and says, “Take Carver, for example. Just because he’s a Grey Warden who has dedicated his life to grim sacrifice and saving the world doesn’t mean he can’t have one meal without stress. Especially when his food is served to him by someone so dashing.”

Taka has set it up, so Carver knocks it down. “Hey, Lord Dashing,” he says, tapping his fingers on the table. “Quit talking and dash on over here. I’m still hungry.”

“Yes _ser_ , warden _ser,_ ” Taka replies, extra saucy, and promptly shuffles towards him at the speed of a tortoise.

Carver laughs with the others, his heart lifting at Taka’s show of spirit, his mind almost convinced that Taka’s right and the last couple of days were caused by exhaustion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost done almost done ALMOST DONE


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We come once again to the end of another story, so I must as always give my thanks. Thank you to those on Tumblr who enthusiastically encouraged me to write this. Thank you to all the regulars here - without you this would have never been written! Thank you to Cenk, valammar, missfronkensteen, Elaewin, and Riana1 for commenting so consistently. I love you guys. Thank you to Beth and Sammy for being very, very, _very_ patient with me as I blithered on about an OC ship. Thank you especially to my wonderful beta Notaricon, whose eyeballs I trust more than my own, and my husband, who displayed incredible tolerance as I talked my thoughts out on the construction of this story.
> 
> Thank you to each and every reader who has come through. I am grateful.

“You really like that robe.”

Taka looks up from tying the sash, a smile flitting over his lips. “I do, but this is more of a strategic maneuver as my clothes were getting uncomfortable. I’m positively stuffed.”

“You did eat a lot. That’s good.” Carver’s in the same state, sitting slouched in an armchair by the fire, dedicating all his energy to digestion.

“Told you I was hungry.”

Carver grunts, his eyes going half-lidded.

“Get undressed, Carver, it won’t do for you to sleep half the night in that chair. You’ll wind up with an unrivalled crick in the neck.” Taka walks over, his steps almost soundless on wood and rug, and kneels at Carver’s feet. “And you still have your boots on. Didn’t you learn anything from earlier today?”

“My boots are clean! And so is Neeps.” Turnip pricks her ears at the mention of her name, but otherwise doesn’t move.

“That isn’t the point, and you know it.” Taka removes Carver’s right boot, then his left, standing them up next to the chair. He goes for Carver’s socks next, peeling them off with his mouth set firmly into a line.

“Taka, stop. I can undress myself.” Though the idea of Taka undressing him in bed isn’t a bad one.

“Can you? Some days I do wonder.” Taka grins up at him, then kisses the side of his knee.

“Fuck you,” Carver says fondly.

“Why Carver, this is how I know we were meant to be together. It’s like you can read my mind.” Long fingers reach for the laces of his breeches and begin tugging.

Carver lets Taka do what he wants. “It isn’t hard when it’s all you think about.”

“It isn’t hard?” Taka chuckles in a way that tells Carver he’s way too pleased with himself. Deep down Taka’s a silly child, and being a silly child himself, Carver can appreciate it. “You won’t say that to me in a few minutes, if it even takes you that long. And I do think about other things. Me fucking you, for example.”

Carver groans loudly, but laughs all the same. “Taka!”

“And, since the conversation has moved to this point and I should really do this before we can’t stop ourselves…” Taka hauls himself to his feet, breaking contact. Carver voices his disappointment with something that sounds suspiciously like a whine. “...do you have a minute, Carver?”

Does he have a minute? “I’m right here, aren’t I? What is it?”

“Go get in bed, and you’ll see. And do me a favor by taking your vest off. Those buttons are a pain.”

Carver doesn’t see what Taka does as he puts his vest back in the wardrobe. He only sees once he’s finished that Taka’s sitting in bed, robe still on, hands clasped in front of him. “All right,” Carver says, joining Taka, lifting the blanket just enough to wriggle his legs under it. “What’s going on?”

Taka takes a breath, waits, then takes another.

“Taka, is there something wrong?”

“No.”

Carver exhales the breath he’s been holding, relieved.

“Well, actually yes.”

For fuck’s sake. The worry he had unpinned from his heart re-pins itself with savagery.

“I have to talk about feelings, and you know that’s always wrong.”

Carver sucks in air, indignant, then swats Taka on the arm. “Don’t _do_ that! What the fuck, Taka! What is wrong with you?”

“A lot,” Taka offers up, quirking a smile. “So people have told me. I wouldn’t know, as I have no flaws.”

“You absolute shit,” Carver mutters. “If you have such a problem talking about your feelings then just do it and get it over with.”

Taka snorts, glancing away. “Confrontation is more your style, Carver. You know mine.”

“I do. Running, and then more running. And possibly after that, for variety, some more running.”

Taka laughs, ducking his head. “When you make it sound like that…”

“Won’t work when I’m already here. Out with it.” Carver pats his leg twice to punctuate his sentence.

“All right.” Taka sighs heavily. “I don’t know how else to say this. Carver, I’ve written my entry for the Book. Don’t worry, I know what you’re thinking. I wrote about you quite favorably.”

Taka knows damn well that a favorable impression is the last thing Carver cares about; Carver will have his own hopefully lengthy biography. If Taka has written his entry, that’s the big thing. The big acknowledgment. The sign that his Calling isn’t far off.

“You’re speechless, I know. You can thank me later. I’m very considerate, and patient besides.” Taka unfolds his hands, revealing a solid gold men’s signet ring resting in his palm. He stares at it for a long moment, and Carver can almost see him picking up words and discarding them, searching for the right ones. “This is my family’s seal. I have never needed it before, which is why it’s been sitting in my room like a useless lump. But now I find there’s a use for it.”

Taka closes his eyes briefly, then continues. “I have a favor to ask of you, Carver. I haven’t written the final copy of my entry. There’s still time. But if it comes down to it, once I’ve completed the final draft - if I’m unable to send it myself, then…”

He takes Carver’s hand and flips it over, rolling the ring into Carver’s palm. He closes Carver’s fingers over it, and squeezes lightly. “Then I want you to do it for me.”

Carver blinks, his eyes burning, unable to speak for all the emotion lodged in his throat.

“Ah, I could have worded it better.” Taka nods to himself, withdrawing his hand, huddling into his robe. “I meant only if you wanted to. If you don’t want to, I understand. I don’t intend to force you to do something against your will. I am very capable of finishing it and sending it tomorrow if need be. You can keep the ring, though. That’s a gift regardless.”

Carver sits stunned through the whirl of his thoughts, staring at Taka, who refuses to meet his eyes. Another gift to add to the horse and the dog. Taka’s entry for the Book. Taka not wanting to touch him in a moment when touch speaks the most. He’s always, always running, and Carver hasn’t ever figured out why.

Carver wraps an arm around Taka’s chest and pulls him in too tight, crushing Taka’s body against him. Like this, Taka can’t run. “You fucking idiot,” he manages. “You fucking idiot, Taka. You don’t - you don’t need my consent for - not for this, all right? Not for this. I’m your _partner._ Of course - Maker, you’re so stupid. I love you and you’re so smart but you’re also so _stupid._ ”

Taka speaks, his voice small. “Let me go, Carver, I can’t breathe.”

Carver lets Taka go, then scrubs his free hand over his eyes. “Do you want me to send it to the commander or straight to Weisshaupt?”

“Divia. She knows what to do afterwards.”

Carver sniffles, then nods. He opens his hand to look at the the rearing horse on the bezel.

“That used to fit a bit tight on my ring finger.” Taka picks up the ring, takes Carver’s left hand, and turns it over. “I don’t know if it would...”

“If it would what?” Carver prods him. Taka doesn’t have to keep himself from Carver, but he does nonetheless. With enough time that habit might have been corrected.

“Nothing.” Taka smiles, tight-lipped, and leaves the ring on Carver’s leg. “It’s yours now. You do whatever you want with it.”

Carver stares defiance into Taka’s eyes, plucks up the ring, and slides it onto the last finger of his left hand. It fits perfectly. “I’ll wear it, if it pleases you.”

A snort, then a real smile. “It does. What if it didn’t?”

“I would wear it anyway, because I have a duty to you. And because I want to.” A kiss is fitting for their situation, not chatter. Carver twists, cupping Taka’s jaw, turning his face so their lips can meet. They dive into each other spectacularly.

“Carver,” Taka whispers when he surfaces, eyes brightened with desire, “you had better get the dog out before she learns what humans do at night.”

Carver could say Neeps already knows, but there’s no point. He confines Neeps to the washroom, tears off his undershirt, sheds his breeches so fast they turn inside out. He kicks them aside, uncaring. Taka’s splendidly naked in bed and Carver has no intention of wasting a single second of his life not touching the slender tautness of Taka’s body. Those hips, with that density between them; those forearms, corded with muscle from archery, all the better to grip Carver’s hair with; that smile, both sacred and wicked, full of promise. What a mouth on him to coax such things out.

“Sweet boy,” that mouth murmurs between full, wet kisses down Carver’s neck. He shivers with want, arching on a breathy moan. “Let me hear you, Carver.”

“You’ll need to work for it, Taka,” he replies, grinning at the sudden annoyance on Taka’s face. “Won’t make it that easy for you.”

“Are you asking for it?” Taka brushes his lips soft as mist down Carver’s chest, lifting hairs as he goes. If the man could purr, he would. Carver bites back his groan when Taka closes his mouth over a nipple and sucks. Maker, is he really inviting this upon himself?

“Do your worst,” Carver throws back, taunting. Oh fuck, he really is. But there is nothing quite like being helpless with pleasure, knowing Taka has him even as the waves rise up and crash upon him and roll him under until time and place cease to matter.

Taka chuckles, his low laugh buzzing into Carver’s skin. “Feisty.”

“You like it that way.” Carver smoothes his hand up Taka’s stomach, slides it around his ribcage, digs fingernails into his back.

“With you? Yes. Very much so.” Taka bats Carver’s hand away, then pins his wrist to the mattress with his own hand. He kisses Carver fiercely as he grinds their cocks together, swallowing Carver’s moan. “I like it any way with you, truth be told.”

“I do -” The thrust of Taka’s hips makes it almost impossible to finish what he’s saying. “- too.”

“Thought you said you weren’t going to make it easy?” Taka’s eyes spill over with mischief.

“I’m not!” Carver protests, but then Taka does this _thing_ and Carver forgets for a second what he’s just said. He writhes, gasping, gasps again when Taka repeats the gesture, doesn’t get to finish as Taka slips fingers into his hair and kisses his neck and rolls his hips and _Maker_ , Andraste, bloody _hell._ “Taka, I’m - I’m not - _oh_ -”

“You’re the worst at lying, Carver,” Taka breathes, his words skimming across Carver’s skin, setting him to trembling. Taka’s right yet again, because Carver aches for him so wantonly it’s shameful. Except Taka would never accept shame of any kind.

So Carver gives up and moans, and turns himself over, melts at the praise whispered into his ear, pushes himself up against Taka in a way that makes him laugh.

“Too eager,” Taka murmurs. “Just enjoy it. I certainly am. Look -” He kisses the back of Carver’s neck, his tongue an electric press against skin that causes Carver to tighten and twitch. 

“At -” He grabs Carver’s asscheek, sinking his fingers into the juncture of bottom and thigh, and pulls Carver apart. Sweet fucking _Maker_ , Carver wants Taka bad.

“You.” Taka draws his fingers up Carver’s inner thigh. Carver refuses to dignify the sound he makes, or the other noises he tries to muffle in the pillow. “How could I not enjoy all of you?”

“Taka,” Carver manages before Taka wrings another moan out. There’s a hand around his cock now, stroking. He’s supposed to answer probably. Carver says something, but he isn’t sure what comes out of his mouth. Whatever it is, Taka likes it.

Which is all that Carver cares about before he stops thinking altogether.

*** *** ***

Morning comes in a blink. Carver swears he’s just closed his eyes, but there’s sunlight and birdsong and frost in crystalline webs around the edges of the windows and a puppy at the foot of the bed and Maker, he’s hungry. Carver breathes deeply, his chest broadening, and turns his head to look at Taka, finding his hand beneath the covers, lacing their fingers together. Though asleep, Taka tightens his grip. Carver’s heart swells.

He rolls onto his side, letting go briefly so he can anchor his elbow and prop his head against his knuckles. He flexes the last finger of his left hand, marveling at how strange Taka’s signet ring feels. With the other he holds Taka’s hand again. Carver watches his lover sleep for a moment, eventually leaning down to ghost a kiss over Taka’s cheek.

Taka stirs, his eyes opening little by little. Carver smiles as wide and bright as the light washing in from outside. No paralysis today it seems, and he can detect nothing out of the ordinary. He kisses the upward curve of Taka’s lips, unable to stop himself. It’s a good morning. A good fucking morning.

“Mmm,” Taka sighs, and if there was a word to describe the look on Taka’s face, it would be adoring.

“I love you,” Carver says. He’s free to say it whenever he wants and however much he wants, despite Taka’s clear disdain for showing affection. Carver’s sure Taka will adapt a different point of view, though it’ll take time. “I love you a lot.”

“Ah,” Taka replies, voice faint, clearly not all the way awake yet. His eyes flutter shut. “This dream again.”

Bitterness crackles through him, as sharp and acrid as lightning. Why must it be like this? Why can’t they have more than a moment without heartbreak? Carver exhales, closing his own eyes. He keeps his tone gentle as he replies. “You aren’t dreaming, Taka.”

“Hm.” Taka opens his eyes for a second. “Sounds like something dream you would say. Is it time? Let’s… let’s have this just a while longer, please. Please.”

“You can have this as long as you want.” Carver swallows the building dread. “Taka, you aren’t dreaming. This is real.”

“Where are we?” Spoken with a sigh like floating gossamer.

It’s too early in the morning to cry, Carver tells himself. But given the strength of the light, it’s closer to noon than sunrise. “We’re at the farm, in the master suite.”

“Of course we are. We always are.” Taka squeezes his hand. “Always...feels so real. Always holding your hand. Then you become something else.”

“I’m not turning into anything,” Carver says. “I’m here with you and you aren’t dreaming.”

Taka blinks at him, unfocused, then smiles. “Wanted to tell you. Before this ends and I wake up and I have to hide it again. I love you. Have for years. You aren’t... not supposed to know.”

“I love you too, Taka.” There are tears in Carver’s eyes. Maker, does Taka think they aren’t...? Has the Taint stolen that truth from him?

“I love...everything about you. Even those things you do that annoy me. Oh, don’t… don’t look at me like that, Carver. I…” Taka takes a breath so long it stops time. “You’ve been the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Carver grips Taka’s hand harder, unable to speak. The truth is, Taka’s been the best thing to happen to him, too.

“All right, you can go ahead and change now.”

If he doesn’t blink, nothing will spill down his cheeks. “Change into what, Taka?”

“Oh…” He’s already fading. “A ghoul, usually. I… Sometimes you kill me. And I let you.”

Maker, it’s terrible. “Taka, you aren’t dreaming, I’m not turning into a ghoul, no one’s killing anyone. Taka? Taka, stay with me. Dammit, wake up.” Carver pushes himself up to shake Taka’s shoulder, but it’s no use. His eyes close.

Taka’s words float out on his exhale, so quiet Carver can’t understand them.

Carver throws himself out of bed when it becomes apparent Taka will remain asleep, yanking on his clothes with a fury, biting his lips together in a scowl so deep it almost breaks him. Not even Turnip’s big brown eyes nor the wag of her tail help him feel better. “Let’s go out, girl,” he says to her through gritted teeth. Nothing in him subsides as he passes by the kitchen to ask Niane for breakfast; his temper remains short even after some fresh air. Carver commands Neeps to stay in the kitchen, hurrying back to the master suite.

There’s a roaring fire, tea, and baked buns on a tray when he returns, plus two folded letters. Carver takes a giant bite out of a bun before he goes to check on Taka.

Whose eyes are open and staring.

“Shit,” Carver hisses, swallowing. He puts a hand on Taka’s ashen cheek, feels for himself the clamminess of Taka’s skin. Though the light is strong, Taka’s usual color looks washed out and gray. “Taka, I’m here. You’re going to be fine, all right? Look at me.”

Taka blinks. Discordant music threads its way into Carver’s ears. Unnerved, Carver shakes his head, trying to get it out. “Taka, relax and breathe. I’m here, and you’ll be fine as you’ve said, because - because I swear I’ll sing ‘Andraste’s Mabari,’ swear by the Maker I’ll do it. You knowwww…”

Carver draws a desperate breath, not caring that what he’s singing bears little resemblance to the actual song because of the emotion breaking through his voice. “Andraste’s old mabari, he don’t show up in the chant…”

Nothing. Nothing but the rise and fall of a different song from a dreaming archdemon.

“And if you ask those holy sisters, they’ll say Andraste can’t… C’mon, Taka.” Carver readies himself for the next line. “Have had some big old smelly wardog, but all Ferelden knows it right: our sweet Lady needed someone who would warm her feet at night. Like Neeps! Taka, you hate it when the dog gets on the bed.”

Still nothing. “Taka, please. You need to…” Taka needs to wake up and be himself and be cured of the Taint so they can grow old and cranky together. Taka needs to wake up and remember Hurley and know that Carver loves him and understand that they are _together_ , what was the point of going through all that only to have it disappear? Carver breathes in and starts the next verse. There’s a stupid pantomiming dance that goes with the song too; Carver throws himself into it.

He flings out an arm. “And there’s Andraste’s mabari by the holy Prophet’s side! In the fight against Tevinter, that dog would never hide! They say the Maker sent him special, always loyal, without pride!”

Taka’s inhales like he’s bursting; he gasps loudly, then laughs, wheezing. “I was not expecting that!” he exclaims, turning his head to look at Carver as he laughs some more. “You couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. What was that _awful_ song?”

Carver leans down to hug Taka tight now that the paralysis is gone, burying his forehead into Taka’s neck, his own chest heaving, tears squeezing through his eyelids. It’s too much. Maker, it’s too much.

“Ow,” Taka complains. “Let go.”

Carver has no intention of doing such a thing, not when there’s less and less to hold.

Taka taps Carver’s shoulder, his voice soft. “Carver, you’re hurting me. Let go, please.”

Carver releases him, spinning on the ball of his foot to face the breakfast tray, striding over, distraught. He shoves a bun into his mouth and chews, needing to do something, anything, with his body. Eventually he says, “How do you feel?”

“Tired.”

“But fine?”

Silence. Carver looks at Taka. He’s closed his eyes again. “Taka, tired but fine?”

Finally, Taka says, “Tired.”

Carver tightens his hand into a fist, locking his jaw. “There’s, um,” he says when he thinks he can talk without a waver in his voice. “There’s a letter here addressed to you. Looks like it’s for your eyes only.”

“Who’s it from?”

Carver’s seen the handwriting before, but flips the letter over to check the seal for confirmation. “Aeveth. Do you want to read it?”

Taka hasn’t moved. “No. You read it.”

Reluctantly Carver breaks the seal, uncomfortable with the breach of privacy despite being given permission, uncomfortable with Taka's lack of interest in his cousin's letter. He unfolds the paper, eyes scanning over Aeveth’s beautiful penmanship.

It’s Carver’s turn to go pale, the blood draining from his face. “Taka.”

He doesn’t respond. Carver goes to the bed, puts a hand on Taka’s shoulder, and shakes him. “ _Taka._ ”

Taka rouses himself with difficulty, his face creasing with irritation, and growls, “What.”

“Taka,” Carver says, “it’s about Aeveth. We have to go to Kirkwall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Fin._


End file.
